


Trust

by LumosLyra



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Drama, Eventual Happy Ending, F/M, Fluff, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Torture, Infant Death, Kidnapping, Miscarriage, Self-Harm, Slow Burn, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-28
Updated: 2018-09-04
Packaged: 2019-04-29 03:11:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 9
Words: 26,648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14463741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LumosLyra/pseuds/LumosLyra
Summary: For the past six years, Hermione Granger has endured unimaginable horrors.  When she is finally rescued, she has to learn to re-trust the world and those in it.  She finds herself trusting someone she never thought would earn that privilege, a certain silver eyed wizard with a penchant for being a bit of a rebel.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Chapters 1-5 were revised in late June 2018.

The air hissed as his palm made contact with her cheek, throwing her head back against the wall.  She could feel the painful red welt rising, willing herself not to cry from the stinging sensation.  If she had learned anything during her captivity, it was that crying only escalated his rage.  No, crying was not an option.  She leaned against the cold stone wall, her once luscious curls matted against her head as she felt a slick trickle of blood run down her neck. 

 

She had given up tugging against the restraints, knowing that it was futile.  Her wrists and ankles were crusted with dried blood and one particularly bad spot had begun to fester.  She was bound with a particularly strong _Incarcerous_ and the magical ropes tore at her naked flesh with each infinitesimal movement.

 

He grabbed her by the hair and threw her against the wall.  She heard the sickening crack of her head hitting the bricks before she felt the blinding pain shoot up her spine, an instant pounding in her ears at the rush of blood.  She let out brief frenzied cry and cut it off by biting down on the inside of her cheek.  She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of her wailing in pain.  It only made things worse.

 

She could feel his smirk, his dark eyes watching her every move.  She heard the raspy, deep timber of his voice as he goaded.  “Scream for me, mudblood.”

 

 _No._   Her inner voice cried even as he aimed his wand at her torso and she felt the all too familiar blinding pain course through her veins, electrocuting her limbs into spasms and nearly boiling her blood, as he called out another “ _Crucio._ ”  Her screams rang throughout the room and she heard him nearly moan with pleasure as she fluttered on the edge of unconsciousness.

 

Her lips twisted into a smile as she thought of the sweet release of death while she lay on the cold, stone floor as she felt his rough hands closing in around her throat. Perhaps today would be the day he would finally kill her, giving her that blessed release from her years of torture.

 

Flashes of brilliant light filled the room as several figures suddenly apparated into the room.  The sudden brightness caused Hermione to momentarily return to a conscious state, gasping for breath as his hands released her throat. 

 

Hermione heard the thud of a body hitting a wall not long after a calm, deep, and vaguely familiar voice shouted an urgent _“Stupefy!”_   A shuffle of feet and another shout brought someone close to her.  She inhaled a scent that stirred her memories from _before_ as she drifted in and out of consciousness. 

 

“She’s lost a lot of blood, but she’s breathing.”  Someone said.  “We need to get her to the healers as soon as possible.” 

 

Hermione’s eyes fluttered open meeting a pair of kind eyes the color of storm clouds and a cold November rain before her world was once again plunged into darkness. 

 

_Sweet release._

……….

 

 

She awoke from a nightmare with a blood-curdling scream, desperately clutching the thin cotton sheet that the healers had draped over her still naked body.  In an unanticipated feat of strength as pure adrenaline coursed through her veins, she threw herself off of the small bed and back herself into a corner of the room.  The room was too white, too sterile, and the smell of antiseptic invaded her nose causing bile to rise high in her throat.  She swallowed it down and gasped for air through several erratic breaths, feeling as though she were drowning in a sea of conflicting sensations. 

 

Her head was throbbing as her stomach ebbed and flowed with wave after wave of nausea.  She swayed on unsteady feet in the corner of the room as  the team of healers rushed over to her from where they had been quietly conversing.  A particularly plump medi-witch was the first to speak in calm soothing tones.  “Ms. Granger, you’ve been brought to St. Mungo’s.  I assure you, you are safe here.” 

 

Hermione attempted to press herself further into the corner of the room, willing for death to take her as the healer moved closer to her, holding her neatly manicured hands out in a gesture of good will.  “Please, Ms. Granger.  Let me help you back to bed.”  She said with an easy prosody.  The sickly sweet calming tone with which the healer spoke made her spine sing with trepidation.

 

Her voice was weak, hoarse, and nearly feral as she barked the word “No” at the healers who were too close, too clean, and too calm. She pressed her bloodied hands and forearms against the walls, pushing off with a strength she didn’t know she had as she darted past the group of healers.  She sprinted down the hallway with a wild abandon as the hysteria continued to coat her throat with painful shockwaves. 

 

The first spell flew past her ear, but the second made contact with her torso.  She toppled over herself, landing on yet another cold floor as she felt herself slip once more into oblivion, wishing for death to greet her as an old friend.

 

……….

 

 

Clutching a tumble of scotch, Draco Malfoy massaged his forehead with his fingertips, his eyes scanning the evening’s Daily Prophet Headline:  _Missing for 6 Years: War Heroine Found_.  The picture used showed a carefree Hermione smiling and laughing and smiling with Potter and Weasley.  It was a far cry from the Hermione Granger who had been rescued mere hours ago.  The thought of the woman he had rescued sent a chill up his spine, one that warranted another long pull of the amber liquid.   

 

She looked nearly feral and dangerously thin.  Her once svelte curves had been reduced to protruding ribs, sallow skin, and jagged angles.  She was covered in dirt, grime, and all too much blood – both dried and fresh.  Her once lovely curls were matted and tangled and wet with yet more blood.  Draco thought he had been prepared for her appearance, but he broke the moment he noticed the scars and bruises beneath the layers of blood and dirt.  Her neck was purple from repeated asphyxiations, fingerprint bruising was evident on her thighs and arms, and a gash showing signs of infection trailed from her collarbone to just below the curve of her breasts. 

 

Draco suspected she had fought her captor relentlessly and six years was a very long time to fight.  For the brief moment he had met her gaze, her eyes were haunted and frenzied and that was what broke him.  He pulled his eyes from the picture of her and scanned the article recounting her disappearance.

 

Hermione had been walking down Diagon Alley after meeting Ginny Weasley for lunch when she had been disarmed, pulled into an alley, and whisked away via side-along apparition. There were conflicting reports from the witnesses but all confirmed the look of sheer terror on the woman’s face just before she was forcefully disapparated. 

 

It had taken six excruciating years for them to track her down and no expense was spared for her recovery.  Draco had taken a team six highly skilled Aurors the night they broke through the wards – something they had been working on meticulously for weeks.  Potter had been with him mere hours ago and had vomited at the sight of her bloodied and broken on the floor.  

 

Draco poured himself another glass of scotch trying to drown out the image of her that was permanently scratched on the back of his eyelids.  It was Draco’s _Stupefy_ that had knocked the bastard off of her and clear across the room and he wasn’t sorry to say that he found pleasure in the thud of his body hitting the wall.  The Ministry had wanted him alive, but if it had been up to Draco his life would’ve ended at that moment.  Azkaban would not be kind to him and for that Draco was grateful.  He would let his inheritance take care of that little problem without one shred of guilt.

 

Even with all of his training, he had still not been prepared to see her as he had, though it was discussed and expected amongst members of his team.  It still surprised him some days that he had even been admitted into the Auror training program given his involvement, albeit forced, with Lord Voldemort and the task he (mercifully) failed to do during his sixth year.

 

Draco Malfoy, Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, and Pansy Parkinson had all entered training at the academy at the same time and it was soon proven that Draco’s skills easily rivaled those of the Boy Who Lived.  Weasley was mediocre at best and had eventually been shuffled into an office in the nondescript Department of Licensing follow a few mishaps in the field.  He was, however, a brilliant strategist and had been brought in for Granger’s case as a consultant.  Parkinson liberally employed her charms and cunning during training and was sent to the Intelligence side of the D.M.L.E.  It was Parkinson who had discovered the captor’s identity while on an unrelated mission in Ireland. 

 

Draco and Potter had been paired up as very reluctant partners but soon developed a tense tolerance which eventually led to friendship, breaking down all barriers that had existed between them during their school days.   

 

Tossing his copy of the Prophet aside, Draco cracked his neck and refilled his tumbler of scotch for a third time, knowing it was going to be a long night of documentation after the Unspeakables came to retrieve his memory of Hermione’s rescue.  He buried the desperation to apparate to St. Mungo’s under yet another long pull of scotch. The pull to ensure her safety had been there since he had first been assigned her case six years ago and now that he had found her, the pull was even stronger.

 

The healers might not even have her stabilized at this point and he knew the waiting room would be crowded with people who had a much stronger connection to her than he did and even then he knew she wouldn’t trust anyone after what she had been through, least of all him. 

 

……….

 

 

“Good morning, dearie.”  The plump medi-witch said in lilting tones as she sauntered with a cheerful sway into Hermione’s suite at St. Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries.  Hermione was sat on the bed, arms wrapped around her knees, knees pulled her chest, staring at the yellowing bruises on her wrists.  It had been exactly two days since she had been rescued and it had taken a team of four healers to sedate her and heal the worst of her injuries.  A _Scourgify_ could only do so much and she still felt dirty, chafed, and vile.  They had offered her a bath, sponge or otherwise, several times and she had refused.  

 

“Would you care for a bath, today?” the healer asked, levitating several potions to a table near Hermione’s bed. She waited expectantly as she always did with a smile plastered across her rounded face.  Eventually, Hermione looked towards her with narrowed, untrusting eyes and gave a slight nod.

 

“Wonderful, my dear. I’ll prepare the bath and we’ll have you tidied up in a jiffy.”  The medi-witch’s nauseatingly cheerful demeanor elicited a scowl from Hermione, but the scowl faded somewhat as she heard the flow of water filling the tub.  With a flick of her wand blue bubbles settled on top of the warm water and the scent of jasmine filled Hermione’s senses. 

 

Laying out a set of clean, white clothing (a shirt and pair of trousers in hospital cotton) on the back of the chair near the steaming tub, the healer backed out of the room with a smile.  “Whenever you’re ready, dear.”

 

Hermione eyed the steaming tub with uneasy eyes for several moments before slowly easing her sore body off of the bed.  The white tile felt foreign on her feet as she slowly made her away to the steaming tub.  Hermione trailed the tips of her fingers through the warm water.  She eased herself into the tub and felt the water instantly soothe her tired muscles.  She held her breath as she slipped her head beneath the water.  She had no intention of coming back up.

 

……….

 

 

Hermione’s eyes fluttered open and immediately closed again once she realized she was back in the bed, clothed in the soft cotton shirt and trousers the medi-witch had left out for her earlier. She pushed the blanket down and moaned in pain as she sat up, willing her eyes to reopen.  Pushing her fingers through her still damp hair that had been cropped to her ears, she examined her arms.  The indentions his bruising fingers had made still dotted her arms in the form of yellowing bruises and she knew her thighs would be much the same where he had pried them apart time after time.  Her wrists were still purple, but the slices from the ropes had been healed.

 

She pounded her fists against the soft mattress in frustration and felt the tears began to fall for the first time in years.  Salty tears snaked down her cheeks like a betrayal and she screamed another frenzied cry which echoed throughout the room before collapsing back onto the bed.

 

_Why won’t let just let me die?_

 

……….

 

 

Offering her a spoonful of something that appeared to be soup and smelled of hicken, the medi-witch smiled, “C’mon, honey.  You need to eat something.”

 

Hermione shook her head and croaked out a “no” as she hugged her knees to her chest, staring at the vase of slowly wilting white roses that had appeared in her room some time over the past few days. 

 

With a rare sigh, the medi-witch left the bowl of warm broth on the table and made to exit the room, ensuring Hermione she would be back in a few moments with another potion.  Hermione pulled one of the flowers from the vase, inhaling the subtle scent before relentlessly tearing into her veins with one of the thorns.  The sight of blood on her arm was strangely comforting as it has been her _normal_ for the past several years.  Hermione sighed as she watched the blood trickle down her arm. 

 

_Sweet release…_


	2. Chapter 2

The fireplace at Number 12 Grimmauld Place flashed and flickered with bright green flames and surprised Harry Potter to the point that he almost dropped the picture of himself, Ron, and Hermione he had been looking at.  He pushed his glasses back up to the bridge of his nose and rose to greet the tall, blonde man stepping out of the flames. 

 

“Malfoy.”  Harry greeted him, rising from where he had been sitting on the sofa and offering his hand to the blonde. 

 

Draco accepted it with a firm handshake.  “Potter.  Is it a good time?”  He said, eyeing the slightly rumpled photograph near the sofa.

 

Harry nodded.  “It’s as good a time as any, given the circumstances.”  He motioned to living area, inviting Draco to sit.  “Would you like a drink?” 

 

Draco settled on the arm of a chair and shook his head, “No thanks.  I’ve been drowning myself in scotch and Pansy’s been giving me hell for it.” 

 

Harry sunk back down to where he had been sitting on the sofa.  “I know what you mean.  Is she back in the country?”  He said, solemnly, picking up the moving photograph he had been watching before Draco arrived.

 

“She had a two-hour layover before she got on another one of those flying muggle death traps so we had had lunch yesterday while she was waiting for her flight.  Well, she had lunch and I had scotch.”  Draco said with a shrug of his shoulders. 

 

He took a deep breath and posed the question he had come to ask. “Have you seen Granger?”

 

The forced expression of contentment Harry had been holding on his face to this point dropped.  His eyes were rimmed in red and there were dark circles under his eyes.  With a shake of his head, he responded.  “No.  Molly keeps us informed, though.  She was like a mum to Hermione after she was unable to reverse the memory charms on her parents.”

 

“I remember…” 

 

“Several of us have tried but she won’t have anyone in her room.” Harry continued.  “She, um… she’s made several _attempts_ over the past week.”  After uttering those words, Harry looked like he wanted to vomit.

 

Draco closed his eyes and exhaled slowly, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I can’t get that night out of my head.  She… she’s permanently etched on the back of my eyelids.”  Draco murmured. 

 

Draco heard the giggle of a child and opened his eyes to see that Ginny had entered the room with James balanced on her hip.  She was gingerly directly a levitated tea service to the coffee table. The little boy who was oblivious to the world’s troubles was clapping his hands and reaching for Draco. 

 

Giving the child a half smile, Draco took him from Ginny’s hands and tickled his belly.  “Why hello there, Mr. Potter.”  He said teasingly as the child flashed him a toothy grin as a dribble of spit escaped from his mouth. 

 

“I think it’s time for a good, strong cup of tea.”  Ginny said, handing Draco a handkerchief to deal with her son’s drool. 

 

Draco wiped the child’s mouth.  “Thank you, Ginny.”  He said with a chaste peck to the boy’s head as the redhead witch handed him a cup with milk and two sugars, just the way he liked it.  

 

Ginny fondly placed her hand on Draco’s forearm.  “We owe you everything, Draco.  If you weren’t family before, you certainly are now.”  She said with a sorrow laced sincerity that tugged at Draco’s heartstrings.

 

He set his tea down, pulling the youngest Weasley in for a side hug as his godson attempted to chew on the Malfoy signet ring adoring his hand in a ploy to ease his sore gums.  From the other side of the room, Harry let out a snicker, probably the first in several days since Hermione had been recovered.

 

“I’ll let you break the news to Ron.”  Harry said with a playful snort.  

 

“I’ll break my brother’s face if he disagrees.”  Ginny said with a wistful smile somewhat reminiscent of Luna Lovegood. 

 

“Does this mean I’m expected at Sunday dinners, now?”  He chuckled, shifting James’s mouth away from the centuries old ring, ignoring the surprisingly thick layer of drool that was coating his hand. 

 

“And all of the birthday parties,” said Harry.

 

“And you must bring presents… especially during the month of August.”  Ginny said with a wiggle of her brows.  

 

Draco rolled his eyes at his friends, “Percy, great tosser that he is, is getting absolutely nothing from me.” He chuckled, reveling in the brief break in their shared heartache.

 

Years later, he was still amazed that they had managed to overcome their differences from their school days.

 

……….

 

“Did you know it’s been nearly two months since you came to us, dearie?”  said the cheerful healer as she bustled about Hermione’s room, carefully measuring out several different potions. 

 

Hermione glared at the woman with furrowed brows. If she didn’t loathe her before, she certainly loathed the ever-exuberant woman now.  Why is Merlin’s name did the damned woman need to be so bloody joyful all of the time?

 

She was the reason Hermione’s room had been stripped to prison like conditions.  Her sheets and clothing were charmed so she would be unable to twist or roll them into any sort of rope.  The remainder of the furniture had been removed and all that was left was the bed and the bathtub in the corner of the room. 

 

Oh, and bath time was now thoroughly supervised following Hermione’s last stunt. Not to mention all flowers were thoroughly stripped of their thorns and were cut short.

 

_Cunt._

 

Hermione pulled her legs to her chest and hugged them with her arms.  She moved only to accept each potion the medi-witch handed her.  The potions helped her to not feel so much and for that she was grateful, so she drank the potions.  Being numb was cathartic and reminded her of that escape she so desired.

 

“Your friends have been trying to visit, you know.”  The medi-witch reminded her. 

 

“No.”  She said plainly, keeping her eyes focused straight ahead.  It was better this way.  She was better off alone.

 

……….

 

 

Hermione directed her normal steady gaze at the healer who was once again bustling around her sparsely furnished room.  “May I have a book?” she whispered quietly.  It was the first full sentence she had spoken in the months since she had been brought to St. Mungo’s. 

 

This action clearly delighted the medi-witch because she squealed and nearly jumped for joy at Hermione’s request. Hermione scowled.

 

With a flourish of her wand, several leather-bound texts appeared at the base of Hermione’s bed.  With tentative fingers after several moments of consideration, Hermione selected one, tracing the spine of the book with her thumb. The healer levitated the remaining books from the bed to the windowsill.

 

“Thank you,” Hermione said quietly, gingerly opening the cover of the book and inhaling the scent of leather binding, ink, and parchment. 

 

“You’re quite welcome, Ms. Granger.”  The healer said as she sashayed from the room.

 

Hermione tucked a short tendril behind her ear and turned to the first page of the first chapter, devouring the words more quickly than she could anticipate.  She felt a sense of calmness rush over her as she read each word, soon losing herself in the story.

 

She lifted her eyes from the yellowing pages of the book as she heard a soft knock at the door. 

 

 _“_ It’s probably just that infuriating woman again _”._   She muttered to herself, shifting her eyes back to the text, determined to continue ignoring the healer.  When she wasn’t greeted with the bright, nauseating voice of the healer, she once again shifted her gaze to the door. 

 

Within seconds the book was discarded with fluttering of pages and a thump on the floor as Hermione found herself crouched in a corner of the room near the window and as far away from the door as she could possibly get, staring down a tall wizard with high cheek bones, silver eyes, and hair so blonde it was nearly white. She clawed desperately at the walls as a solid ball of panic lodged itself in her abdomen.  Her eyes were frenzied and terror stricken as her eyes darted between the man, the floor, and the door.  

 

Draco stood frozen near the door, a set of robes draped over his forearm. “Granger, it’s me.  Malfoy.”  He said, referred to himself by his surname in an effort to evoke a sense of familiary for the terrified woman.

 

“I won’t come any closer,” he assured her keeping his voice quiet and soothing as the corners of his mouth lifted in a smile that was meant to be reassuring.

 

Hermione stared at the wizard, her eyes wide as she ran through her knowledge of the man in the flickers of clarity that broke through the agitation and moments of terror.

 

_Draco Malfoy._

_Former classmate._

_Slytherin._

_Arrogant prick._

_Death Eater._

_No.  Wait._

 

_Acquaintance?_

_Somewhat likeable?_

_Auror?_

 

Inhaling a deep breath, her body relaxed slightly and she stood up straight, her hands pressing against the walls more for support as though she were attempting to ground herself.

 

Draco fiddled with the signet ring on his finger as he watched her with a careful gaze. “I was there the night you were rescued.  My team was the one who found you.”  He said, keeping his voice quiet and level with a soothing prosody.

 

She looked markedly better compared to the night he found her, but it was evident she still had a long way to go.  The evidence of her physical wounds was almost gone.  He could still see traces of the bruises on her arms and neck and he could see the faded traces of white scar lines on some parts of her body. Her curls were cropped much shorter than he recalled from the last time he saw her, falling between her ears and the tops of her shoulders.  She was still dangerously thing, but he noted she was no longer completely skin and bones so at least the healers had succeeded in getting some form of nutrition into her body.

 

“Go away.”  She hissed through her teeth, keeping her back pressed into the corner of the room as her flight or fight response attempted to kick in from the adrenaline coursing through her body.  Her eyes continued to flit between him, the floor, and door by which he was standing.

 

“I’ll do ask you ask, _Hermione_ , but I promise you that I will be back tomorrow.”  Draco inclined his head towards the frantic woman and slipped out of the room.  As he closed the door behind him, he heard a terrified wail coming from within her room and his heart ached to help her. 

 

……….

 

 

Draco sat across from Harry and Ginny Potter with his arm casually draped around the shoulders of Pansy Parkinson at a pub located a few blocks over from the Leakey Cauldron in muggle London.  Draco was calmly nursing a tumbler of whiskey served neat.

 

“One of these days, your liver is going to rebel against you and I won’t rush you to St. Mungo’s when it does.”  Pansy chided with a smirk as she knocked back a shot of tequila followed by a quick pop of a lime into her mouth. 

 

“You’re worse than I am, half of the time.”  He said, elbowing the cheeky witch in her ribs. 

 

“Watch it!” Pansy exclaimed, playfully slapping Draco’s chest.

 

“That’s what?  Shot number three?  You know what they say about tequila shots, Pansy…” Ginny mused with a smirk as sipped on a glass of ice water.

 

“Don’t forget the martini she had while she was waiting for us to get here.”  Harry pointed out.

 

Pansy’s eyes widened as she released an offended scoff. “I did no such –“

 

“I can smell the olive on your breath, Parkinson.” Draco said with raised brows as he shook his head.  “You’re a terrible liar.”

 

She huffed and wiggled out from under his arm, siting back in the corner of the booth as she crossed her arms over her chest. “You’re all a bunch of pricks.”

 

This once a week outing after work with his friends was probably the only semblance of normalcy in his chaotic life. He spent the majority of his days working in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement – Auror Division, his nights barely sleeping, and when he wasn’t doing either of those two things, pacing the halls of St. Mungo’s.  At times, Ginny and/or Molly paced with him.  Harry still had trouble bringing himself to the hospital and Ron was almost as bad.  

 

Before her disappearance, Hermione had joined their weekly outings periodically do the non-descript pub in the middle of muggle London.  Draco recalled she preferred fruity drinks with strange names like _Malibu Sunrise_ or _Sex on the Beach_. If he concentrated hard enough, he could almost smell the intoxicating scent of her perfume and hear a peal of ringing laughter as it echoed from her lips. He missed those days though they had been no more than casual acquaintances drawn together by a shared group of friends.  They had put aside their differences from school but certainly never sought one another out outside of these weekly outings.

 

She was like a drug burning through his system which fueled his own night mares and he felt a desperation to pull her into her arms, kiss her forehead, and spin the time turner to erase the past six years of misery for her.  She has refused when the healers had offered her oblivation, but after her experiences with oblivation, he couldn’t blame the witch.

 

Harry broke the momentary silence that had settled on the group.  “How is she?”  He said, staring off into his pint of Guinness as Ginny rubbed soothing circles over her husband’s back.

 

“She stayed in the bed this time and I was able to move about five steps into the room.”  Draco said, solemnly, taking a long pull from his tumbler.  Pansy uncrossed her arms and gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze. 

 

“She still won’t let anyone else into the room.” Ginny, who was desperate to see the witch who was like a sister to her, mumbled with a sigh.  “Mum tried last week and Hermione nearly had a seizure.  The healers had to sedate her.”

 

“She’s started reading again.”  Draco offered as he traced his fingers over a crack in the table. 

 

“I think that’s a step in the right direction.” Harry said.

 

“Time will tell.”  Draco said curtly as he knocked back the rest of the amber liquid in his glass.

 

……….

 

 

Hermione stared curiously at the white lilies that were set in a glass vase with an unbreakable charm to prevent her from shattering the vase and using the glass against herself.  It had been several weeks since she had made an attempt, but there really wasn’t anything for her to make an attempt with.  She noted the small silver card tucked amongst the blooms and plucked it out with her fingers.  She traced the neat lettering as she read the three words several times over.

 

_Thinking of you._

It was simply signed ­with “ _DM_ ”. Draco Malfoy.  Hermione had spent the past several moments going over any and every reason why he might possibly be sending her flowers as she did every week.  There had been at least one bouquet of flowers delivered every week without fail. Last week was a simple arrangement of bluebells and foxglove.  The week before was a fragrant bouquet of freesia which was preceded by a colorful display of tulips.

 

With a resigned sigh, she requested a quill, ink, and parchment from the healer who had delivered the flowers. 

 

The medi-witch smiled and summoned the requested items.  “You understand I must watch you with the quill?” 

 

With a nod of her head, Hermione traced her fingers over the velvety feather of the quill.  She noted idly she could no longer see any remains of the bruises that had dotted her arms. 

 

 _Thank you for the beautiful flowers_. She wrote with a flourish of the quill.  Folding the parchment in half and handing the items back to the witch, she said “Can you please send it to him?”  Hermione motioned towards the card she had plucked from the vase of lilies. 

 

Within the hour, the medi-witch arrived to her room carrying a small bouquet of cornflowers tied with an indigo ribbon and joined to a letter, both of which must have arrived via owl post.  Hermione opened the letter and saw the same neat handwriting as on the card that had accompanied the lilies. 

 

_These are from the gardens around my home.  I hope you find them just as l lovely._

 

It was once again signed with a simple “ _DM”._

 

After requesting the flowers be put into water and placed near the lilies, Hermione once again requested the quill, ink and parchment.  She chewed on the inside of her lip for several minutes before finally dipping her quill into the inkwell. 

 

……….

 

 

Draco sat in the garden, toying with a cornflower as one of the owls from the hospital landed on the wrought iron table.  He took the parchment from the owl and opened the letter, smiling as he saw her neat, precise handwriting.

 

_Can you come?  I’d like to ask you a few questions_

 

He traced each letter with his finger before tucking the parchment into the pocket of his trousers.  He made his way inside of his town-home and didn’t hesitate in picking up a handful of floo powder and calling out his destination.

 

Within moments, he was knocking softly on the door to Hermione’s room.  He slowly opened the door and stepped beyond the threshold remaining still until she gave the slight nod her head that meant “come closer, but not too close.”  The corners of his mouth turned upwards as she moved towards her with slow, steady steps. He settled in the chair near her bed as she pulled her knees to her chest, running her fingers over the white cotton trousers she was wearing. 

 

As Draco waited for her to speak, he noted her hair had grown and was nearly touching her shoulders. He began to twist the signet ring around his finger as he waited for her to break the tense silence.

 

Several additional minutes passed before he heard her whisper, “What happened to him?” as tears rose to the corners of her eyes.

 

“He was sentenced to Azkaban for life without any chance of appeal or parole.  They wanted to reinstate the Kiss, but Shacklebolt wouldn’t allow it.  I have it on good authority he is being treated with exactly the amount of care he deserves.” 

 

Draco silently reminded himself to send off another sack of Galleons to the guards who were in charge of the bastard to ensure his level of care was _exactly_ as he deserved.

 

Salty tears began to snake down her cheeks, pooling in her lap, as he relayed what happened to her abuser which culminated in mournful sobs that wracked her body.

 

Before he could stop himself, he was at her side and his hand was resting on her forearm.  Time seemed to slow as Hermione’s body seized up and her fist was making contact with his face.  The surprise of her actions sent him toppling backwards onto the tile floors with a decidedly ungraceful thud.  Once he ceased seeing stars, he saw she was back in the corner of the room. 

 

“I deserved that.”  He said, rubbing his hand over his rapidly swelling cheek.  He would ask a healer to give him a swelling-reduction potion later.  He slowly stood up from the floor and moved back into the chair.

 

“I’m sorry, Hermione.  I didn’t mean to frighten you.”  He apologized.

 

Several moments of silence passed and finally the tension in Hermione’s body visibly relaxed and she slowly moved back to her bed, pulling her knees once more to her chest.

 

“How long has it been?” she asked after several minutes, wiping the remnants of her tears from her cheeks.  

 

Draco took a moment to consider if she was asking how long she had spent in captivity or how long it had been since she was rescued.  He went with the latter. “You’ve been at St. Mungo’s for six months.”

 

“Why are you the only one who comes?”

 

Draco chose his words carefully.  “Ginny and Molly are here often, but they often look in on you after you’ve fallen asleep given your _previous_ reactions.  They give the rest of the Weasley clan regular reports.  Potter decided to wait until you asked for him, but he sometimes accompanies Ginny.”

 

Hermione released a sigh and tucked her chin to her chest.  “I don’t like the potions they give me.  They don’t stop the nightmares… they only stop my screaming.” 

 

Draco involuntarily reached his hand towards Hermione, but pulled it back once he recalled the implications of his previous actions.  His cheek throbbed as if to spite him.   

 

She turned her head towards him and for the first time since the night he rescued her, her brown eyes fully met his gray eyes. “Does it hurt?” Draco wasn’t sure if he imagined it, but he thought she sounded concerned about punching him in the face.

 

“A bit”, he admitted with a slight smirk.

 

She apologized, her lips curving downward into a frown.  “I’m sorry I punched you, Malfoy.”

 

His heart gave a little jump as she uttered his surname. “I’m pretty sure I deserved it.” He admitted with a cheeky wink. 

 

She nodded, her gaze dropping to the two vases of flowers and she remembered he had been the one to send them. “Thank you for the flowers.”  


	3. Chapter 3

Hermione eyed the plump, disgustingly cheerful mediwitch with a look of contempt.  The witch seemed to have no concept of the fact that Hermione wanted nothing to do with her. She just continued bustling about, doing… things… and being overly cheerful and it grated on Hermione’s nerves to no end. The woman had been designated to care for Hermione since the beginning of her stay at St. Mungo’s and if the infuriating woman ever shared her name, Hermione had long forgotten what it was.  Not that she really cared.

 

“Drink up, my dear.”  The healer said, passing Hermione a foaming, periwinkle blue potion while she carefully prepared one that looked a bit too green for Hermione’s tastes.

 

Lifing the potion to her nose, Hermione breathed in a wisp of fragrance and immediately regretted it, drawing back from the offensive smell with a wrinkle of her nose.  “I’m not drinking that.  It smells awful.”

 

“The potion masters have assured me it should help lessen your nightmares and perhaps increase your rate of progress.” The medi-witch said, pouring the contents of one vial into the green potion Hermione had been wary of turning it a deep ochre.  “You’ve been here quite a long time, you know.”

 

The prospect of any sort of ease from the nightmares which plagued her night after night was too tempting.  She pinched her nose and knocked it back quickly, vigorously rubbing her tongue against the top of her mouth, trying to rid herself of the taste as her body shuddered, her lips curling into what could only be described as a snarl. 

 

Hermione toyed with the hem of the white shirt made of hospital cotton.  “Do I have to wear this?”  She said, motioning to the clothing she was currently wearing. 

 

This particular question nearly elicited a squeal from the medi-witch and Hermione just stared unamusedly at the ridiculous woman as she clapped her hands together.

 

“That sweet redheaded girl dropped off clothes for you months ago. Would you prefer robes or muggle clothing, dear?” 

 

“Muggle clothing.”  Hermione said, plainly.

 

With a look of concentration, the medi-witch summoned the chest of drawers made from dark wood which hadn’t been in Hermione’s room for months.  “Everything Ms. Weasley brought is in there.”  She said, pointing at new piece of furniture while she went back to preparing the potion.

 

Hermione slid off of the bed and opened one of the drawers, selecting a pair of jeans and an old Gryffindor t-shirt from inside.  She traced her fingers over the Hogwarts crest almost lovingly before changing into the items she had picked.  The shirt and jeans were a bit too big and looked somewhat baggy on her still emaciated frame.  She had put on some weight but not enough to wear her jeans without the threat of them falling off if she made too many sudden movements.

 

Her gaze shifted from the chest of drawers to the window where several books were piled on the sill. 

 

“I remember there were chairs… before.  Can they be moved back in as well?”  She asked, watching a bird fluttering outside of the window. 

 

“I promise I won’t try anything with them.”  She added quickly, knowing she was the reason her room was barely furnished.

 

“Of course, of course.”  She said, handing Hermione the final potion before also summoning the two plush armchairs with blue upholstery and a small table that had previously occupied Hermione’s room.  A tea service appeared on the table moments later.

 

“Thank you.”  Hermione muttered quietly before moving over to the window.  She sat in one of the chairs and tucked her feet underneath her and opened the book she had been reading, tracing her fingers along the spine.  With her free hand, Hermione poured herself a cup of tea in a cup that was charmed to be unbreakable as she heard a knock on her door.  Draco entered cautiously with his robes draped over his arm.  Hermione saw a smile cross his face as he noted the new chairs near the window. 

 

He gestured to the one opposite of her, “May I?”

 

He settled into the chair following a nod of assent from Hermione and opened a book he had brought with him.  Typically, he sat next to her bed as they both read their books, but the addition of the chairs and table seemed to make things slightly more comfortable.  He glanced up at her every so often over the pages of his book and Hermione found she didn’t mind their strange routines or his company.  She was still somewhat wary of him, but she was wary of everyone though his stubbornness had wormed his way into her presence more than anyone else she knew from _before._   Sometimes they would talk, but most of the time they would just sit in a companionable silence.  He almost always waited for her to speak first and never seemed to mind if not a single word was uttered between them.

 

“Eight months?”  She asked, keeping her eyes trained on the text of her book.

 

His eyes glanced up at her from his book and with a nod of his head, he confirmed, “Yes, eight months.”

 

“Do you think they’ll let me have my wand back?” She asked.  She hadn’t seen her wand since the day she had been dragged into that alleyway, though she had attempted wandless magic with little success.

 

“Eventually… when you’re well.” He replied plainly.  Whenever she asked a question, he never seemed afraid to give her the answer, even if it wasn’t one she wanted to hear.  She appreciated that he was a plainspoken man and didn’t try to coddle her.

 

Hermione scoffed with a raise of her brows.  “When I’m well.  That may as well mean never.” 

 

Draco closed his book and set it on the table and leaned forward, placing his hand near her, but not touching her.  “There will be a day, and it may take a long time, that you _will_ be well.”  He assured her with a confidence she wasn’t expecting. 

 

“Did they… do you… do you know what happened to me?”  She asked him, with a slight tremble in her voice. 

 

Draco shook his head with a slight frown.  “I know a few things, mostly based on your… wounds… when you were admitted.”

 

Hermione didn’t know why she felt compelled to talk to him.  She hadn’t spoken to anyone about what had happened to her despite urgings from her designated healer and scheduled sessions with a mind-healer.

 

Her voice was shaky as she began recanting the events of her captivity.  “I was walking in Diagon Alley after having met Ginny for lunch when I was disarmed, pulled into an alley, and forced into side-along apparition.  It took less than three seconds, but I heard the cries of people on the side walk before he… took me.” 

 

She closed her eyes, a painful shiver shooting up her spine as she continued.  “The first few months weren’t so bad… com-compared to the end.  I was given a room in a house.  I slept in a bed, and was able to eat and bathe regularly.” 

 

She folded her hands on the table, the beginnings of mournful tears starting to show through her thick lashes.  “The more I fought, the more I cried, and the more I screamed… the more he hurt me, raped me…”

 

Draco’s hand covered hers and though she flinched she didn’t move away.  He could see the faint silvery scars circling her wrists from where she had been restrained. 

 

“It was all physical at first and then he started using magic.  _Incarcerous.  Impedimenta.  Confundus, Deprimo, Obscuro, Everte Startum, Diffindo, Immobulus, Crucio, Imperio…”_ she listed, her voice trailing off as she came to the unforgiveables.

 

“When you…your team found me… I-I think he was only days away from finally killing me.  I think he felt you closing in.”

 

Draco squeezed her hand.  “Hermione, I am so sorry it took us so long.”  He said as gently as he could given that he was flushed with a simmering anger that nearly caused his blood to boil.

 

She shook her head as the tears coating her lashes finally released, rolling down her cheeks like rain on a window.  “Someone told me I was there for six years.”

 

“Yes.”  He confirmed.

 

“I fought for six years and I’m forced to re-live every moment whenever I close my eyes.  The potions do _nothing_. I’ve prayed for death, begged for it, and even tried to take matters into my own hands.  Why won’t they just let me die?” She pulled her hand out of his and covered her face, her elbows slamming down to the table as she cradled her head in her hands.

 

Draco moved from the chair and knelt in front of her, one of his hands settling on her elbow.  “I know you’re tired of fighting, Hermione. If you give up now, it will have all been for nothing.  _We_ can’t let him win and we… _I…_ will be here to make sure he doesn’t.”  He said, rubbing gently circles over her elbow with his hand.

 

When the tears finally stilled, Hermione watched the snow as it fell from the heavens and floated to the ground, her chin resting on one hand while the fingers of her other hand were entwined with Draco’s as he sat opposite of her with his book in his hand.  The remainder of the afternoon was passed in a companionable silence and for once, Hermione felt comforted.

 

……….

 

Draco tenderly nursed a glass of scotch, staring at the hole his fist had made in the wall. It didn’t matter that his knuckles were bloody and his hand was throbbing when the thoughts of the conversation he and Hermione were swirling around in his mind.  Taking a long pull of the amber liquid, he closed his eyes and rested back against the cushions on the sofa, attempting draw a memory of her where she wasn’t bloody or broken.  His mind settled on his first encounter with her following their graduation from Hogwarts.

 

 _Their weekly outings to the pub in muggle London had just started and they were on their way to friendship but were currently settled into a comfortable camaraderie from having to work so closely while they were finishing up their auror training._   _Draco and Harry has been chatting with Potter’s fiancée at the time, Ginny Weasley about the events during training that day._

_“So, your brother whips out his wand and attempts to fire a hex and Finnegan but he didn’t pronounce the spell right and it completely backfired.”_

_Ginny was doubled over, howling with laughter, imagining Ron covered with green and purple iridescent scales._

 

_“The best part is his hair didn’t change.  Weasley looked like this scowling, scaly lizard whose head was on fire!”  Draco quipped with a chuckle. “You should’ve seen the look on his face, Gin. I don’t know long it took our instructor to work out how to set him right.”_

_Harry snorted.  “Must’ve been a few hours. He’s my best mate, Gin, but good lord, he’s not cut out for this part of training.  I expect he’ll do better when we move on to strategizing given his proficiency with wizard’s chess, but to lose in a duel to Finnegan?”_

 

_Ginny was still doubled over in the booth her ginger hair spilling over on to the table, laughing so hard tears were running down her face. “I know!  I’ve no… idea how…. he managed to survive… the war.”_

_Harry and Draco exchanged a knowing look and a pair of amused smiles before responding in unison._

_“Granger.”_

_“Hermione.”_

“ _Did someone say my name?” Hermione had appeared as though out of thin air, holding an excessively fruity looking drink in her hand. Her curly locks were piled high on top of her head in a messy bun, a few tendrils escaping, framing her face.  She was wearing a loose t-shirt over a pair of leggings with trainers.  She must have just come from the gym._

_“Hey you.” Harry smiled, standing to embrace her.  “We were just telling Ginny about Ron’s spectacular mishap today.”  Harry reported as Ginny moved over, Hermione sliding into the booth next to her._

_“It must have been a good story, you’ve rendered this one senseless.” Hermione quipped motioning to the red headed witch next to her with a wiggle of her brows._

_Draco inclined his head towards the brunette witch, politely.  “Granger.”_

_“Malfoy” She replied, coolly._

_After his trial where he was exonerated from his crimes during the war, Draco had caught glimpses of her here and there.  She popped in to see Potter and Weasley periodically during the lunch hour on training days.  Having read about her involvement in the war in a particularly lengthy spread in the Prophet, he had found himself in awe of her resourcefulness and intellect as they described the details that led to the fall of Voldemort. The war had changed many things and one thing it had certainly done was altered his view on Granger._

_“When does your apprenticeship start again, Hermione?” Ginny asked._

_She stirred the fruity drink absently with her straw. “Next week.  I leave for Scotland on Friday.”_

_“Apprenticeship?” Draco questioned, raising an eyebrow.  He was all but certain she had already had several job offers from different departments within the Ministry._

_Hermione nodded, “I’m pursuing a mastery in charms and Flitwick is helping me prepare before I start.  I think I’d like to go into research or maybe teach one day.”_

_“With you turning down all of those offers from the Ministry, does this mean we don’t have to hear about SPEW anymore?” Harry chuckled._

_Hermione narrowed her eyes, glaring daggers at Harry as she crossed her arms over her chest.  Draco was certain if she was capable of wandless magic, she would’ve used it on Potter at this moment.  “It’s S.P.E.W. you great prat and of course not.  I’ve already submitted a proposal to the Ministry.” She said just a bit too smugly before a look of annoyance settled over her features.  “It’s caught up in the bureaucracy at the moment, but I thoroughly intend to keep Shacklebolt on his toes about his promise to review it personally.”_

_Draco took a long pull on his drink, utterly confused at the current subject of the conversation. What was SPIT or was it SPEW.?  Draco wasn’t sure he wanted to know given the somewhat nauseating acronym that accompanied whatever it stood for._

 

Draco was pulled from his thoughts after hearing a knock on his door.  He murmured a quick _Reparo_ causing the hole in the wall to promptly close, leaving no trace it was ever there in the first place. Draco set his glass of scotch down and opened the door to find Pansy’s smirking face staring at him.

 

“I don’t know why you insist on coming in through the door when you could just as easily use the Floo.”  He chided as she pushed past him.

 

“How’s Granger?” she asked, plopping down onto his couch in a very unlady-like fashion, removing her heels and tossing them aside.

 

Draco closed the door and crossed the room, “Not good.” 

 

“Has she made any progress?” The witch asked, her voice betraying how tired she was.

 

By the time Draco neared the couch, Pansy had rearranged the couch pillows and was sprawled out on the couch as though she owned it.  Draco chuckled inwardly, idly wondering how good she was at spying for the Ministry given how easy to read she was.  Maybe he had just known her for too long.

 

“A bit.  She told me what happened to her today… but I don’t think I got the whole story.” Draco picked up his near empty glass and the bottle of scotch and moved Pansy’s legs, sitting down on the couch.  He pulled her legs back over his lap and knocked back what was left in the glass.

 

Pansy’s eyes drifted to his bloodied knuckles.  “It must have been a doozy.  Where was the hole, this time?” She said, grabbing her wand to heal his knuckles.  She knew better than to press him for information about Hermione.

 

Draco gestured vaguely to the wall he had punched after he poured himself another glass of scotch.  “Over there somewhere, I fixed it after I heard you knocking.”

 

“You don’t have to do this, you know.” Pansy said quietly.  “Granger has friends who are perfectly capable of spending time and helping her to move on and heal from what happened to her.” Pansy stated, flourishing her wand and setting a tumbler to fill with ice and whiskey from across the room.  With another flick it floated into her hand and she signed happily as the honeyed liquid burned her throat.  

 

Draco absently ran his hands over Pansy’s leg. “I’m the only one, apart from her assigned healer, who _ever_ gets past the door unless she’s asleep. Molly and Ginny have tried several times and she becomes hysterical.  I won’t pretend to understand it, but for some reason the sight of me doesn’t do that to her… anymore.”

 

Pansy raised her eyebrows, her confusion plainly displayed on her face.  “That makes absolutely no sense.  You made her life hell while we were in school and yet she’s the only one you’ll see.” 

 

Draco signed, rubbing his hands roughly over his face.  “I’m there more than I’m at home and I’m going to keep going back.  This is…” he hesitated, “well, it’s something I just need to see through to the end… whatever that may be.”  

 

Pansy rested her hand on his arm and gave it a reassuring squeeze, thoughts swirling around in her mind.  She ran the fingers of her other hand through her dark hair, a sudden realization bringing a smile to her lips.  She knew Draco better than she knew anyone else and his interactions with Granger, albeit few up until the time of her rescue, were very telling.  Her intuition never failed and that was one thing that made her such an asset to the Ministry, though she knew he couldn’t see it yet. 

 

With a stretch and another sip of whiskey, she simply said, “I knew you would the second you told me she’d been found, Draco.”

 

……….

 

 

Hermione rolled over in her bed covering her head with a pillow in an attempt to shield herself from the bright sunlight that had invaded her room with a draw of the curtains. 

 

“Good morning, dearie!”  The plump medi-witch nearly shouted as she smiled brightly.  “I think it’s a lovely day for a walk now that the snow is nearly gone.”

 

“No.”  Hermione groaned beneath the pillow, silently cursing the meddlesome witch.

 

“Fresh air will do you a world of good.  You’ve not left your room once since you’ve arrived and that handsome young man who visits you is here.” She said, tearing the pillow away from Hermione’s grasp with a determined smile that set Hermione’s teeth on edge.

 

Hermione clenched her teeth and muttered an almost vicious “Fine”, as she padded over to the chest of drawers and began rummaging for something to wear.

 

“There’s a good girl.”  The cheerful healer said with a chuckle.

 

Hermione selected a jumper and a pair of trousers and dressed quickly, pulling on a set of warm robes over her clothes.  She gathered her courage and walked towards the door, pausing in the doorway when she saw Draco leaning against the wall directly opposite of her room.  His appearance was impeccable as always when he came to visit.  His formal outer robes were hanging open to reveal black trousers, a black waistcoat with a gold pocket watch attached, and under that, a black oxford.  Hermione realized she’d not seen him wear any color other than black in the entire time he had been visiting her except when he arrived in his auror robes after work some days.

 

She stood frozen in the doorway as their eyes met, her hands resting on the doorframe.  “I… I can’t…”

 

“You can.”  He smiled, offering her his hand, stepping across the narrow hallway to lose the distance between them.  “Take my hand.  We’ll be with you.”  He motioned to himself and the medi-witch who was standing behind Hermione. “You can do this.”  Draco urged.

 

Hermione paused for several moments in careful consideration before reaching out tentatively with her hand. She stood there for what felt like ages, her small hand tucked safely into his before finally taking a step outside of her room.

 

 “There we go.  It’s just this way.”  Draco motioned down the hallway, giving her hand a reassuring squeeze.  Hermione nodded, moving slowly, cautiously her eyes darting at they continued down the corridor with Draco matching her pace even as he guided them towards the courtyard.

 

The courtyard at St. Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries was a fairly large enclosed space.  Vines in varying shades of green covered four stone walls.  Frost resistant flowers were sown in beds at the base of the stone walls and a paved walking path curved around several tall oak trees.  There were several benches spaced throughout the courtyard, most often in the shade of one of the trees. There were patches of snow here and there on the ground from the recent spring snowstorm, but the majority of the snow had melted off by this point.  

 

As Hermione stepped out into the sunlight after more than nine months since the night of her rescue, she felt brief wave of tranquility wash over her as she breathed in the crisp spring air, closing her eyes the cold wind tousling her curls. 

 

“Would you like to sit over there for a moment?”  Draco motioned to a wooden bench at the other side of the courtyard.  Hermione’s eyes fluttered open as she nodded. 

 

“Yes, please.”

 

……….

 

 

Hermione glanced up from her book as she heard the light tapping on the door to her hospital room.  Given that only one person ever knocked when he came, she assumed it was Draco. Hermione had even started to look forward to his visits.  He usually stopped by a few times during the week, sometimes for only a few moments whereas other times he would stay for hours. On the rare occasion where he couldn’t visit, he always sent a fresh bouquet of flowers with a simple card attached explaining why he wouldn’t be able to be there that day.

 

As he entered her room, he smiled mischievously.  “I hope you don’t mind, but I brought someone with me today.” The red-headed witch peeked out from behind Draco, smiling warmly albeit a bit nervously.  Hermione remained still, but didn’t jump or flinch at the sight of the the red head.  She studied her for a moment, noting her friend was filling out and was starting to look more like Molly.

 

“Hi Hermione.”  Ginny said with a tentative wave as she stepped out from behind Draco.  

 

“Ginny.” Hermione’s expression remained neutral and she turned back to her book and Ginny’s smile turned downward into a slight frown.

 

Draco nudged Ginny forward, leaning close to whisper in her ear.  “We talked about this.  Remember?  Just go sit with her.”

 

Ginny moved slowly across the room toward where Hermione sat beneath the window.  “May I join you?” Ginny asked, motioning to the chair across from Hermione.

 

Hermione nodded, keeping her attention on her book.  Draco had warned Ginny that this might happened.  Some days, Hermione spoke more than others.  Other days, she simply sat and let him speak to her.  Most days, he simply waited for her to initiate the conversation and they sat in silence.

 

Ginny who absolutely couldn’t stand the silence after having grown up in such a large family, opened her mouth in a wide smile and immediately started nattering.   

 

“We’ve missed you, Hermione.” She started.  “Harry, Ron, and I.  Mum and dad too.  Even Charlie, George, and Bill ask about you from time to time.  We don’t see Percy too much, he’s still too busy sticking his nose up Shacklebolt’s ass to come to family dinners.”  She released a nervous laugh. 

 

“Bill and Fleur just had their second child, a sweet little girl who happens to look just like Bill, red hair and all.  You can guess how Fleur feels about that.”

 

“Harry and I got married about four years ago now.  James is our son and he’s eighteen months old and he looks exactly like Harry, but his favorite person is Draco.”  Ginny paused to take a breath.  “Did you know that Draco and Harry work together at the Ministry?  Oh wait, of course you do.  Anyways.  We’re still friends and we meet every week for drinks at the muggle pub we used to go to all of the time before… well, you know.”

 

Draco sat at the edge of Hermione’s bed, watching the two witches as Ginny continued to prattle on about her life.  Ginny looked very uncomfortable in her one-sided conversation and Hermione looked almost… better.  Color had been returning to her cheeks over the past several weeks as they had been venturing outside more and her clothes were fitting better as she continued to gain weight.  She still carried dark circles beneath her eyes, but Draco knew the reason for those.  None of the potions the healers gave her seemed to calm her nightmares, not even _dreamless sleep._

 

Hermione shut her book, abruptly cutting Ginny’s rambling off and turned her head toward Draco.  “Can we go outside today?”

 

Ginny’s mouth was still hanging open, mid syllable, the lock of shock on her face evident, though she quickly tried to suppress it as Draco turned to Hermione. “Of course.  What would you like to do when we go?” He asked simply, kneeling down next to Hermione, waiting patiently for her response.

 

Hermione remained silent for several minutes and Draco could almost see the wheels turning in her brain. “Run.”  She breathed, almost smiling.  “Draco, I’d like to run.”

 

Ginny mulled over the exchange that had just occurred.  Hermione had thrown up a wall that Ginny wasn’t expecting as soon as she had walked through the door, but that wall had come crashing down as soon as she looked at Malfoy.  Ginny stood up, turning to face her friend.  “I should go.” 

 

Hermione nodded.  “The next time you come, please bring Harry or Molly.  I would like to see them.”  Her expression remained neutral, but her words spoke volumes to the redhead.

 

Ginny nodded, fervently, her exuberant smile returning.  “I will, Hermione.  I promise.  We’ll be by next week.”

 

Draco stood and offered Hermione his hand as Ginny exited the room.  Hermione accepted his offer and quickly moved to the chest of drawers and pulled out a t-shirt and a pair of sweat pants, holding them tightly against her as if they would vanish.  

 

Draco stepped out of the room as she changed, waiting for her just on the other side.  He rubbed his face with his hands; he hadn’t been sleeping much either and was hoping dark circles were not beginning to form under his own eyes.  She had done much better with Ginny than he had expected and her invitation for the witch to return was promising.  She might deny that the potions were having no effect, but something certainly was. 

 

When she exited the room, he took her hand in his and led her outside. She glanced at Draco, frowning slightly who was once again dressed in impeccable robes.  “You’re not dressed for running.” It wasn’t a smile, but it was an emotion beyond fear, terror, or the look of calm neutrality she had taken to wearing these days.

 

“No, I’m not, love.”  The word rolled off of his tongue so easily that he didn’t notice the slip. “I’ll be right here.”  He said, leaning against a tree in the court yard, smiling.

 

With a deep breath and some determination, Hermione willed her feet to move.  She started out at a slow jog and worked her pace up as she ran circles around the courtyard, following a paved pathway.  The cool air whipped her curls around her face as she reached top speed and a single clear ringing peal of laughter escaped her lips for the first time in recent memory. 

 

Draco was at her side before her knees hit the pavement.  He felt her small arms wrapping around his neck as she pressed her face into his chest, tears streaming down her cheeks.  He slowly pulled his arms around her, gently stroking her back with his fingertips.  He nuzzled the top of her head with his nose, breathing in the scent of her hair as he fluttered a kiss against her curls.

 

He braced himself for a punch he thoroughly expected, but it never came.


	4. Chapter 4

“Let’s go inside, Hermione.”  Draco urged with a brush of his lips to her curls as he stroked her back with his fingertips. 

 

Hermione shook her head as she clung to him desperately, arms latched firmly around her neck as salty tears traveled down her cheeks.  Draco waited patiently, rubbing gentle circles from the middle of her back to between her shoulder blades. He was perfectly content to give the beautiful, broken witch in his arms as much time as she needed.

 

“I.. I was able to forget… everything… for a moment.  I felt free… and then it all came crashing back down.”  She choked out between troubled sobs, somehow inching even closer to Draco.

 

Nuzzling his nose in the patch of curls nearest her ear as his cheek rested against her temple, he spoke to her in calm, soothing tones.  “You will be one day, Hermione.  It will take time – “

 

“How much time?”  She interrupted with a ragged breath.  “It’s already been months…”

 

“It could be years or decades even,” he replied solemnly. “It will never be as it was before, but you are so incredibly strong, Hermione.  _The man who moves a mountain begins by carrying away small stones.”_

 

“Confucius.”  She said, quietly, blinking the slowling tears from her eyes. “ _No one ever told me that grief felt so like fear.”_

 

“C.S. Lewis.” He confirmed with a smile against her ear, “ _He who has overcome his fears will truly be free.”_

 

“Aristotle.”  She said with a sigh, briefly unlocking her arms from around Draco’s neck to wipe the tears from her cheeks.  She settled into his lap with her head pressed against his chest beneath the large, sprawling oak tree.  They sat in a comfortable silence for what seemed like hours, Draco’s fingertips trailing over her spine.

 

“I don’t want to stay here… at St. Mungo’s, but there’s no way they would release me.  I’m too unstable… and I’ve got nowhere to go.”  She sighed, taking comfort in the vibrations of his heartbeat and the feeling of his arms draped lazily around her.  Within his embrace, she didn’t feel quite so lost or hopeless.

 

“Well take it day by day.”  He replied, confidently. 

 

Pressing her hand against his chest, she sat up and met his eyes with her own.  “You’ve been nothing but kind to me through… everything.  You’re always patient and you’re never flustered... and you’re always here, almost every day without fail.  Why?”

 

Draco took a moment to consider her question.  Why did he come day after day?  His mind flashed back to the horrific scene he had worked so hard to suppress over the past several months.  He knew something broke inside of him that day when he saw her – naked, dirty, and covered in too much blood. She had looked at him with terrified and haunted eyes and it trigged in him some primal instinct, the need to protect her, to help her, and to show her all of the love she deserved.

 

He didn’t only want to do this for her, he _needed_ to do it. They had been mere acquaintances who shared friends when he was assigned to her case, but after spending years working tirelessly to find her and then months to help her reach this point, it had become more personal than he had realized.  As he had told Pansy, he needed to see it through to the end, whatever that may be.  She deserved that.  She deserved someone to show her all of the things that had been ripped from her during those six years of unimaginable horrors. 

 

He took her hands in his and gazed into her eyes.  “Because you deserve nothing but respect, kindness, and love.” 

 

She closed her eyes and rested her forehead against his.  “I’m ready to go inside now.”

 

……….

 

Draco sat up in the chair, rubbing his stiff neck with a yawn.  _Where in Salazar’s name am I?_ He asked himself in a drowsy haze.  He squinted in the darkness and attempted to make out where he was.  He could just make out the faint sound of breathing and he saw a lock of chestnut colored curls draped across alabaster skin as his eyes adjusted to the darkened room.  It was at that moment he also realized there was a hand tucked into his. 

 

 _Hermione._   _I’m still at St. Mungo’s._

 

He gingerly removed her hand from his own and stood from the chair, his body stiff from however long he had been asleep in the chair next to her bed.  After they had returned from the courtyard, he had the medi-witch run Hermione at a hot bath and then they tucked her up in bed, urging her to rest. Draco stayed at her bedside, talking to her in soothing tones and holding her hand, until the sleeping draught had taken effect.  Evidently, he had also fallen asleep not long after she had drifted off.

 

With a stretch of his limbs, Draco moved silently over to the large window and drew the curtains back a few inches, causing a line of moonlight to fall across her face.  The corners of Draco’s lips rose in a contented smile as he watched her sleep for a few moments.  He pulled his watch from the pocket of his waistcoat and checked the time in the moonlight.  It was nearing half two in the morning. 

 

He sat down at the table and pulled two pieces of parchment from the tidy stack and dipped the quill in ink and set quill to parchment. He re-read the words on the first parchment and folded it, intending to send it off as soon as he left.  The second one, he left on the table next to Hermione’s bed before picking up his robes from the chair and pressing his lips to Hermione’s forehead resulting in an unconscious smile.

 

He squared his shoulders even as his heart was threatening to flutter out of his chest and showed himself out, closing the door quietly behind him.

 

……….

 

 

With a sleepy moan and a stretch her limbs, Hermione’s eyes fluttered open.  She looked around the room as if confused and rubbed the sleep from her eyes.  Tucking a curl behind her ear, she sat up in her bed. The sunlight was streaming through her windows and her morning potions were set next to a note on the side table. 

 

She was just reaching for the note when the realization that she had slept through the night without a single nightmare hit her.  An exuberant laugh escaped from her lips and she cried out with a giddiness she had not felt in years, shouting and punching her firsts into the air, “I SLEPT THROUGH THE NIGHT!” 

 

Realizing how stupid and silly she felt as the quickly withdrew behind that comfortable wall of indifference and melancholy before the confusion crept into her mind.  She drew her arms around herself with a frown and began muttering to herself.

 

“Why were there no nightmares?  Why was I able to sleep?  I’ve barely slept in the past seven years.  They didn’t give me anything new yesterday. I took the sleeping draught like normal and I don’t even remember falling asleep.”

 

“Where is that stupid healer, she’ll probably have the answer.  Of course, she isn’t here when I actually need to ask her something.  She’s certainly in my business when I don’t want her to be.”  Hermione scowled and swore.  “Bloody hell.”

 

Hermione felt like a new woman, almost.  She felt _better._   Almost _good_ even.  It was bloody confusing. 

 

She suddenly recalled the piece of parchment that was sitting on the table next to her bed, near the vase of peonies that had been delivered earlier in the week.  She plucked it from the table nimble fingers and read the words in his neat, elegant script.

 

_I fell asleep in the chair sometime after you did and awoke sometime around half two in the morning.  I’ll be back later, but for now, duty calls.  - DM_

 

Hermione swung her legs over the side of the bed and raced to the door, curls flouncing behind her.  She opened the door and suddenly realized she didn’t know the damn healer’s name. They hadn’t given Hermione her wand back, how else was she to summon the witch when she needed her?  She’d never wanted to summon anyone before and wasn’t entirely clear on the protocol. Hermione pursed her lips and finally just yelled the word “help” down the hallway.

 

Hermione was surprised to see how fast the healer could move as she all but ran down the hallway.  “Ms. Granger.”  She was clearly out of breath.  “What’s the matter?  What happened?”

 

“No nightmares.” Hermione said so confidently she felt like smirking, but refrained.

 

“No nightmares?” The medi-witch questioned, catching her breath.  “How curious.”

 

“ _Why_ were there no nightmares?” Hermione pulled the woman into her room, almost hissing at her, her voice barely above a whisper as though she were afraid to jinx the new development should someone hear.  Hermione had no idea what to think at this new turn of events and her mind was swirling with several unfamiliar emotions. She’d had nightmares every day for the past seven years.

 

“I’m as baffled as you are dearie.”  The healer said, tapping her index finger against her chin.  “We gave you nothing new yesterday.  The potion masters are working on new potions daily, but they’re purely experimental at best and not ready to be given without more research.” 

 

Hermione let out a breath she hadn’t realized she had been holding in.  “It was him _.”_  She breathed. It was the only possible solution, the _only_ thing in her carefully controlled world that had changed.

 

“What was that, dearie?”

 

“I… I think Drao had something to do with it.  He stayed with me after I fell asleep.”  She said, thrusting the piece of parchment into the medi-witch’s hands.  “I think he’s the reason I was able to sleep.  It sounds farfetched, but that has to to be it, right?  He’s the catalyst. His presence was the only thing that changed.” 

 

The medi-witched looked from the piece of parchment then back to Hermione.  “It’s certainly plausible, dear.  I know I don’t have an explanation.  Sometimes having loved ones near helps the healing process.”

 

 _Loved ones?_ Draco was just doing his duty as an Auror by checking up on her periodically…. wasn’t he?

 

Hermione flung herself into the plush blue armchair by the window and pulled her feet up under herself, thinking about the implications of actually sleeping through the night and the words the medi-witch had said.  She couldn’t have meant that Draco cared for her in any way beyond simply doing his duty by showing her some ounce of compassion.  Though the way she had let him embrace her yesterday made her question that.

 

He was probably ordered by his superiors to check on her periodically and see how she was progressing… but they wouldn’t have him visit almost daily… even on his days off and on weekends, would they?  The Ministry of Magic would’ve wanted to keep tabs on her progress, of that much she was certain.

 

 _Loved ones_ , _indeed…._   No, it simply wasn’t possible. 

 

As frantic, terrified, and frenzied as she had felt in the early months, he was the only one she had not violently thrown out of her hospital room.  She had tried, but he didn’t let that deter him.  He kept coming back and had been the one to see her at her worst. Draco was a neutral party.  She hadn’t had a personal connection to him prior to the… event… He was just doing his duty.  _Wasn’t he?_

 

Why would he come see her so often?  Surely, he had a family?  A wife?  Children?  If he had all of those things, he never spoke of them to her.  Maybe he kept them a secret for a reason…   

 

He was certainly nice to her.  He never flustered when she cried and only offered words of comfort. He didn’t lie or flatter to try and make her feel better.  She punched him in one of her uncontrolled moments and he still came back to see her. 

 

Hermione wasn’t sure what to think about this new development.  She pushed the thoughts from her mind.  No.  Love was out of the question.

 

She watched the scene outside of the window.  The sun was shining and the sky was a deep, clear shade of blue.  Almost all of the snow had melted from the ground and she noted a few buds starting to open on several of the trees. 

 

It certainly felt as if she had shifted a few stones in the mountain she was trying to climb.


	5. Chapter 5

Ginny Potter bustled around her kitchen, making breakfast for herself, her husband, and her toddler who was currently occupied on the floor with a metal pot and a spoon.  Her marriage to Harry Potter had opened up a world of doing things _the muggle way_ and making breakfast was one of those that she particularly enjoyed.  Flipping eggs by jiggling the skillet just right was much more satisfying than flipping them by wand… even if they did occasionally end up on the floor.   Besides, she wouldn’t be able to do this for much longer as Quidditch season would be here before she could blink.  She would be re-joining the Holyhead Harpies for another season as Chaser.

 

Harry stumbled into the kitchen, his eyes still caked with sleep and wrapped his arms around his petite wife.  “Morning, Gin.”  He mumbled, kissing her cheek, inhaling the scent of frying bacon with a dopey gin on his face. 

 

“You sound awful.” Ginny laughed, leaning back into her husband’s embrace while turning the bacon in the pan. “Didn’t you get any sleep?”

 

“No.  I got an owl from Malfoy at three o’clock this morning.”  Harry yawned, rubbing the sleep from his eyes as he rested his chin on his wife’s shoulder.

 

“What a prat.  Why?”  Ginny said with an arch of her brow.

 

“Hermione had a breakthrough yesterday and apparently he couldn’t wait until civilized hours to say anything.”

 

“Draco took me to see her yesterday. Something must have happened after I left.  They were going to go outside or something.  She did ask me to bring you and mum next time I go.  Maybe she’s finally ready to see us?” Ginny wiggled out of his embrace and started cracking eggs into a bowl, pausing briefly to scoot James away from the range with her foot.

 

Harry’s attention was drawn to the window and he let out another groan as he realized that it was Draco’s owl pecking away. He opened the window and took the roll of parchment from the owl, tossing it a treat from the bag that was permanently set on the windowsill.

 

“What does Draco want this time?” Ginny asked as she poured the now-scrambled eggs into a pan on the stove.

 

“He wants me to meet him for lunch today over in Diagon Alley.  He’s got some idea he wants to run by me.”  Harry shrugged, snatching a piece of hot bacon from the pan and sauntering out of the room before his petite wife could chase him out of the kitchen.

……….

 

Draco and Harry were sitting in the corner of a posh café in Diagon Alley at around noon.  Their drinks had just materialized on their table as Draco spoke, gesturing emphatically.  “I’m just going to cut to the chase, Potter.  I think we need to talk to someone about discharging Hermione from St. Mungo’s.”   

 

Harry choked a little on his pumpkin juice and coughed for a moment before he was able to speak.  He didn’t know what he expected Draco to say, but it certainly wasn’t that.

 

“What do you mean have her discharged?  I’ve heard nothing from you, Molly, or Ginny that would even suggest she’s ready for that.”  Harry tried to keep his voice calm, but it was clear the man was exasperated.   

 

“I know, I know… but just listen to me, Harry.”  Draco said.  “I’m not saying she needs to be discharged from care, only from St. Mungo’s.  She’s come a long way over the past several months… and I know she’s not exactly laughing or smiling yet, but she’s close.

 

Draco took a piece of folded parchment from his robes and held it out to Harry.  “Hermione’s healer sent this to me this morning.  She had her first nightmare free sleep in seven years.  If that’s not progress, I’ll give up my inheritance.” 

 

Harry took the letter from his outstretched hand and scanned through the text on the parchment.  He pointed at one particular line of text and issued a rebuttal.  “But this says that _nothing_ in her plan of care has changed, Draco.”

 

“Hear me out,” the blonde wizard started with an optimistic look on his face.  “Recently, we’ve been walking around the courtyard at St. Mungo’s and yesterday when Ginny visited, Hermione said she wanted to run.”

 

Draco inhaled a deep breath.  “She laughed, Harry.”  He said, pausing to let the magnanimity of what he had just said sink in.  She _laughed_.  Laughter from a dangerously broken woman who had been brutally abused for six years of her life. 

 

Harry’s eyes were wide as he continued. “She broke down immediately after, but she laughed.  That means she felt something other than sorrow or terror for the first time in seven years.” 

 

Every time Draco thought about what happened to Hermione, he felt the astounding need to put his fist through the wall. Thank Merlin for magic and money because he had already used the former to repair several walls while the latter was currently ensuring the bastard thoroughly got was he deserved in Azkaban. 

 

He pushed the thoughts back down and turned his focus back to what had happened with Hermione yesterday. “She clung to me like her life depended on it, which was also the first time she’s done anything beyond letting me hold her hand.

 

Harry gave Draco a knowing smirk, but the blonde missed it being so focused on what he was trying to say.  He was still wrapping his head around it.  “When she calmed down, we went back inside, she took a bath, and then took her normal sleeping draught and fell asleep.  I stayed with her but ended up dozing off myself.  I woke up at half-two this morning.” 

 

“And you think your being there had something to do with the fact that she was able to sleep?”  Harry said, following Draco’s train of thought as he realized where his blonde companion was going with this. 

 

Draco shrugged his shoulders, looking hopeful.  “It’s the only thing that’s changed.  The potions are the same. She still won’t speak to the mind healer.

 

“But it’s only happened once…”  he said, trying to channel his own inner-Hermione and letting logic guide his reactions.

 

“She did remarkably well with Red yesterday… and by that, I mean she didn’t throw her out of the room or back herself into a corner like she’s done in the past.  But I think she tolerated Ginny’s presence, and even invited her back for Merlin’s sake, because I was in the room.”

 

“I… I think she trusts me, Harry.”  Draco said, his voice growing quiet.

 

Harry couldn’t help the laughter that escaped his lips which immediately elicited a scowl from Draco. 

 

“Draco, you and Hermione have never been on good terms.  Even when we used to go to the pub before… you know… there was still always a tension between the two of you.”  Harry said.  “We’re friends and you’re my son’s godfather, but I still find it hard to believe that Hermione would trust you… even though I know everything you’ve done for.” 

 

“I get it, Pansy said something similar not that long ago and it’s still hard me to wrap my mind around.”  Draco conceded. 

 

Harry pulled his fingers through his hair and leaned back against the chair he was sitting in. “You said you think she needs to be discharged from St. Mungo’s. Tell me what you think we should do.”

 

Draco took a deep breath and began to outline his plan for Harry. It was something that he had been mulling over in his mind for a while and he thought the plan was rather solid. “I have the means to care for her in my home, but obviously we would need the director’s approval for her discharge.”

 

Draco saw the look of automatic shock cross Harry’s face. “Not Malfoy Manor, you great prat.  Use the brain you have in that thick skull of yours.”

 

“Did you manage to forget I have a rather cozy townhome in London with plenty of extra space, gardens, a library...?  She would be able to remain under supervision and care provided by a certified healer, myself, and/or possibly one of my house elves.”

 

Harry shook his head.  “She probably wouldn’t go for the house elf idea.  She likens the institution to slavery and would only try to give the poor creatures clothes.”

 

“Noted.” Draco replied, curtly.

 

“You really think she would be able to handle being in a house… your house… rather than in hospital? I believe they still have…um… _precautions_ in place.”  Harry cautioned, placing particular emphasis on the word “precautions” hoping Draco understood the implied meaning.  It was still difficult for him to think of how the strong, confident witch he once knew had morphed into someone so utterly broken that she could not only fathom taking her own life but had also made multiple attempts.

 

“The precautions have been lifted, for the most part and she’s stronger than you give her credit for.”  Draco chided.  “Besides, she told me herself that wanted to leave the hospital yesterday.”

 

“I think if I’m right, and we can use that to keep the nightmares away that we’ll see more progress given a lot of rest and a little time.”  Draco knew it was a long shot, but he couldn’t help but be hopeful… especially if he had been the cause of the new development. 

 

Draco frowned, “I’m not really sure.  It’s just an idea at this point.  I’m not even sure she would want to…” his voice trailed off.

 

“Live with you?” Harry said with his mouth stuffed with mashed potatoes. 

 

“Potter, you’re almost as bad as Weasley; but, yes, essentially that.”  Draco sighed. “As it stands, she knows next to nothing about me now apart from the fact that it was my team who rescued her and that I’m an Auror.  We don’t talk much unless she initiates it.  I mainly just sit, read, and keep her company.” 

 

Harry swallowed his next bite before speaking, shuddering slightly at the fact that Draco had compared his table manners to those of his brother-in-law.  “Maybe that should be your first step, then.  Find a way to talk to her about who you’ve become.” 

 

Draco shrugged, “Perhaps.”

 

“Look, Malfoy. The way you talk about her, the way you say her name even, it’s clear you feel something for her beyond simple friendship.    

 

Draco’s cheeks turned the slightest shade of pale pink as he ran his fingers through his silvery-blonde hair, avoiding eye contact with the boy who lived.  “Is it really that obvious?”

 

Harry’s lips curled into a knowing smile. “To Hermione, probably not given what she’s been through… but to the rest of us, yeah, mate.  It’s obvious. You might as well tell me when it started.” Harry said, shoveling another spoonful of mashed potatoes into his mouth.

 

……….

 

Draco entered Hermione’s hospital room, only to find it empty. He felt a rush of anxiety before he heard a small, fearful voice coming from behind the closed door to the en-suite which had been recently added to the room to offer Hermione some privacy when she bathed.  “Is someone there?”

 

“It’s Draco.  I can come back later.”  Draco leaned against the heavy wooden door to the en-suite, hearing a splash.

 

“No, please stay.  I’ll be out in a moment.”  She said, her voice muffled through the door.

 

Draco placed a bouquet of wild flowers on the table near the window and sat down in what had become _his_ customary blue arm chair and watched the scene outside.  Several minutes later, his head turned as he heard the door to the en-suite open.  He smiled gently at Hermione, noting that the dark circles beneath her eyes had faded somewhat and there was a new flush to her cheeks.  She was wearing a pair of dark wash jeans and a blue and silver striped jumper.  She had attempted to dry her hair with a towel and the messy, damp strands framed her face.  Her damp hair reminded him she wasn’t allowed her wand.

 

“You look better today.” Draco smiled at the witch as she crossed the room, settling into the chair across from him.  She lifted the bouquet of flowers he had left on the table to her nose and inhaled their sweet fragrance letting a small, slightly pleasurable sound escape her lips.

 

Hermione sunk deeper into the plush blue armchair, keeping the flowers near her nose as her eyes closed.  The words came slowly with a mild degree of hesitancy. “I got what I think is the first full night of rest I’ve had in the past seven years.  I didn’t have any nightmares.”   She breathed.  “I’m almost afraid to say it out loud.”

 

Draco nodded. “It doesn’t make it any less real if you say it out loud.”

 

In a sudden display of unanticipated confidence, Hermione lifted her head, dropped the flowers to her lap and met his eyes with her own. “I think it’s because you were here.”  She averted her eyes as quickly as she had made eye contact, feeling a warm blush rise to her cheeks.

 

Draco reached over the small wooden table and took her hands in his, hoping it would bring her eyes back to his.  “Your healer sent me an owl this morning and the same thought crossed my mind.” He paused, briefly, caressing the back of her hands with his thumbs. “I won’t be able to be here every night, Hermione… but I promise you that I will stay when I can… to see if it helps.” 

 

Draco lifted her hands to his lips and placed soft kisses on her fingertips.  He heard Hermione’s breath catch, but she didn’t pull away.  He wanted nothing more to cradle her in his arms and hold her until all was right in her world, but he had learned it was important to not move too fast.

 

With her next statement, Draco could tell that the fleeting moment of confidence he saw moments before had disintegrated, especially because her eyes were still trained on her lap.  “No, that’s too much to ask of you.  You must have better things to do… your friends… family…” Her voice trailed off into nothingness.

 

“Do you trust me, Hermione?”  He asked abruptly.

 

Hermione sucked in a quick breath and met his eyes with her own.  Did she trust him?  Did she even know him?  He had been the one to rescue her and the way he looked at her before she passed out been the first ounce of kindness she had been shown in years.

 

He came back time after time, day after day.  He sent her flowers without fail.  He walked with her in the courtyard no matter the weather.  He comforted her when she was upset and took things at her pace.  She didn’t know how anyone could have such patience.   He didn’t try to push her to be anything more than what she was. 

 

He didn’t ask questions, he just listened. There was something in the quality of his voice, the tenderness with which he approach her that told her he would do whatever was within his power to keep her safe. So, did she trust him?

 

“Yes,” she murmured tentatively.  She drew a deep breath and with just a smidge more confidence, Hermione uttered, “Yes, I trust you.”

 

Draco squeezed her hands reassuringly and intertwined his fingers with hers, feeling his heart soar with the admission that she did in fact trust him.  To what degree he didn’t know, but it was enough. 

 

He had to work to keep his smile and tone level as he spoke gently to her, “Please believe when I say that there is nothing I want more than to be here for you when you need it the most.  I’m not going anywhere, Hermione.  If you need me to stay, I will stay.”

 

“I want you to stay.”  Her voice was barely above a whisper, but there was a sense of longing in her tone.  She didn’t just need him to stay, she _wanted_ him to stay.

 

In a bold move, Draco crossed the short space between them and pulled Hermione to a standing position.  He snaked his arms around her small form and was surprised to feel her lean into him as her own arms fell around his neck.  He pressed his forehead to hers while gently brushing the tips of their noses together. “Always.”


	6. Chapter 6

Hermione pulled back and directed her eyes to meet his stormy orbs.  “Draco, I…”  She bit her bottom lip and pulled back further, out of his embrace, backing up slowly towards the wall.  She felt conflicted. On one hand, she found some small amount of pleasure in his sudden embrace and on the other, it terrified her.  It was too soon.  Too fast.  She shook her head and realized her breathing had become somewhat erratic as her back pressed into the cool, white wall behind her.

 

“Hermione, I’m sorry.”  Draco’s voice almost breaking as he held his hands out in front of him, visually attempting to show her he meant no harm.  He felt the anxiety as it rapidly spread throughout his chest.  How could he have been so stupid? She wasn’t to that point yet.  A voice echoed in the quiet of his mind reminding him she still had a long way to go.  He took a step backward, and sat back down in the plush blue chair by the window.  He kept his eyes on her, attempting to keep his breathing level.

 

Hermione squeezed her eyes closed and willed her breathing to slow down. _Calm down, Hermione.  He won’t hurt you.  You trust him, or at least you think you do.  He’s been nothing but nice to you. He’s been exceptionally kind. You didn’t deserve what happened to you.  Draco didn’t and hasn’t done anything to hurt you. Flowers. Sunshine. Walking. Sleep._  She stood there for what could have been mere moments or hours until her chest began to rise and fall at a normal pace and her body relaxed.

 

Draco clasped his hands in his lap and waited, watching her.  It would do no good to try to say anything more or to leave with her in this state. He would’ve given his last knut to know what thoughts were running through her head. Her facial expressions flit rapidly between the terror he had seen so often in her early days and something calm, strong, and resolute. 

 

Hermione’s eyes opened and she moved slowly and tentatively back to the chair opposite him, tucking her feet up under her and pulling her arms around herself.  “I’m okay.” She murmured quietly, turning to look out of the window, avoiding contact with his eyes.

 

“It was too fast and I understand that now.  Please accept my apology, Hermione.” Draco said, solemnly, his stormy eyes watching the witch across from him.

 

Hermione didn’t turn her eyes back to him, but she murmured a soft “thank you.” 

 

Draco felt defeated, hoping his impulsivity hadn’t cost him the small amount of trust she had placed in him. He watched her watching the scenery outside for an indiscernible amount of time before speaking again. “Hermione, do you still want me to stay?” He asked, hesitantly.

 

Hermione responded without the hesitation with which Draco had asked the question and turned to look at him, meeting his eyes with a strength she was surprised to find within herself.  “Yes, but why do you want to… stay, I mean?”

 

It was Draco’s turn to look out of the window.  He ran his fingertips through his blonde hair, watching two birds flit between the branches of a large tree.  He knew the answer – he loved her, but she certainly wasn’t ready to hear that.

 

“As with any… case,” he hesitated, “I made it a point to follow yours after your rescue.  At first, I tried to keep up with your recovery through Potter, but learned very quickly no one was able to see you.  Molly only received reports from your healer, despite trying for weeks to see you, to speak with you.”

 

Draco could vividly recall the desperation in the Weasley matriarch’s voice as they spoke in hushed voices outside of Hermione’s room on the first day Draco had come to check on her.  She had almost clung to him as she relayed the healer’s reports.

 

“I couldn’t get what I saw that night out of my head.  It sounds irrational, given our tenuous relationship at school, but I need to make sure you were safe and well taken care of.  I was surprised I was even able to enter your room that first day and in the days after.  I couldn’t stop coming after that.  I saw the smallest improvements in your appearance and emotional stability every time I walked through your door.”

 

Draco breathed deeply, turning to look at her.  “I’m here because I care about you and I want to stay with you to help see you through this, no matter how long it takes.”

 

Maybe this was something she could accept.  It was the dreaded “L” word, but Draco had been true to his feelings, albeit a bit vague on them.

 

“But you must have a family...” Hermione protested, starting to say more but Draco raised a hand to silence her.

 

“My father is in Azkaban and my mother lives abroad trying to cope with the fact that my father is imprisoned.  I am married to my job, if anything, but my job has nothing to do with the reason I am here.  It may have started out as the reason, but I am here for you and you alone, Hermione.”

 

Draco offered Hermione his hand, into which she tentatively slipped her own.  “I want to know you.  The real you.  The you before you suffered abuse no one should ever even have to imagine and the you who sits before me now.” Draco urged. “I want to know you.”

 

Hermione squeezed her eyes shut and flinched slightly at the mention of the abuse she endured. She searched her soul and found that she appreciated Draco’s candid and sincere response. “Thank you, for telling me.”  She replied quietly.  “… and thank you for wanting to stay after everything you’ve… seen.”

 

Draco squeezed her hand reassuringly.  This was progress, a step in the right direction.  She still trusted him, but she needed to know him and he needed to know her.    “Tell me something about you.  Something small.” He smiled.

 

“Like what?” she questioned, opening her eyes to meet his. 

 

“What is your favorite color?” It seemed like such a silly question, but it was as good as any.

 

“It was blue… before” Hermione hesitated. “Now, I think it’s white.” She murmured, looking around at all of the white walls.  There was something calming and clean about white.

 

“It’s probably not surprising, but I like green.” He chuckled.

 

She nodded. “I remember.  I’ve never seen you wear anything outside of black, green, or gray, even after graduation.” 

 

Draco looked down at his robes, inclining his head with another chuckle.  “You are correct.  I like what I like.  Now you think of a question.  It’ll be like a game.” He urged.

 

Hermione thought for a moment.  “How do you take your tea?”

 

“Two sugars, no milk.” He replied.

 

“Honey and lemon.”  She offered.

 

Their afternoon continued, each learning small pieces of information about one another while sitting in the chairs near the window as had become their habit. Draco saw a hint of a smile as the corners of her lips curled.  She had been through hell and back, but in her own time, it would come.

 

 

For six blissful days, Hermione had slept soundly.  She felt peaceful, renewed, almost normal and for once, she had woken up before Draco had a chance to sneak out of her room in the dark hours of the morning. He had pulled the chairs close to her bed, his feet resting on one while he leaned back in another, holding her hand gingerly as she slept.  She felt a small smile cross her lips and she reached up with her hand to touch them, the upward curl of her lips feeling strange after so long.  She sighed, almost happily as she gazed down up on the sleeping wizard.

 

His white-blond hair was tousled with just the right amount of care that Hermione wondered how much time he spent in front of the mirror each morning.  His features were angular and aristocratic and his skin was pale.  He looked almost like marble statue carved by one of the great masters. He had grown into his features and looked more like a man than the annoying, ill-tempered, crass boy with whom she had attended school. 

 

He stirred in his sleep and smiled up at her, his eyes blinking rapidly against the light flooding the room.  “Morning.” 

 

“Good morning.” She replied, gently rubbing her thumb across his, affectionately.

 

“How are you feeling this morning?” He shifted in the chairs, being careful to not let go of her hand.

 

“I feel quite well, today.”  Hermione squeezed his hand. 

 

“I’m glad.” He smiled, stretching his neck with a groan. 

 

The slight smile gracing Hermione’s lips turned to a frown. “I’m sorry you had to sleep in the chair.  I know it must not be very comfortable.”  She tucked her chin and pulled her eyes away from his.

 

“Don’t worry about me, love. It’s worth it to see you smile.”  Draco offered, reassuringly, placing his other hand atop of hers as he squeezed her hand with his.

 

Hermione nodded.  “Do you work today?”

 

Draco shook his head.  “No, but I do need to go home for a few minutes and take care of some hygiene things.”  He chuckled, feeling like he smelled somewhere between “ogre” and “troll”.  He simply wasn’t used to not showering daily and since he had been staying with Hermione almost every waking moment when he wasn’t at work, he felt in desperate need of warm water and soap.

 

He stood up, taking both of her hands in his as had become their ritual over the past several days.  “May I?”

 

She nodded in assent as Draco placed a chaste kiss on her forehead which brought the small smile back to her lips.  Sleep had been a god-send.  The potions they gave her seemed to work better when she was not sleep deprived from her nightmares.

 

“I’ll be back within the hour.”

 

Hermione nodded and released his hands.  “I’ll see you soon.”

 

After he left the room, Hermione slid out of her bed and moved into the ensuite.  She paused to look at the room, realizing how it had changed.  All of the furniture that had been removed was back.  The bathtub where she had attempted to let herself bleed out was encased within the ensuite instead of in the corner of the white room. Her blankets no longer held sticking charms, drapes were back at the windows.  Perhaps this is what progress looked like.  She was in a room where she could easily kill herself ten different ways to Sunday, but she found she no longer wanted to.  She had found her strength in Draco and all he had done to support her.  She finally felt ready to get better for him, if not for herself. 

 

 

“Our healers see the progress, just as you do.”  Orion Thistlewaite stated, matter of factly to Draco Malfoy.  He had reviewed the young woman’s charts himself.  There was not a medical diagnosis he could provide, but something about the young man before him was having a tremendous impact on the mental health of one Hermione Jean Granger.

 

“Then will you accept my proposal, Director?” Draco questioned, trying to not let his confidence waiver.  He had come straight to the director after leaving Hermione’s room that morning to discuss his plan.

 

The older wizard wrinkled his brow in contemplation and Draco could practically see the list of pros and cons moving through his mind’s eye.  This man must have been a Ravenclaw.  After what seemed to be several moments, the director nodded.  “I will agree if the young woman in question agrees.  She should remain under Healer Libens’ care.  She’s one of our best mind healers around.  Never gets flustered and is always cheerful no matter what is thrown her way.”  He paused, thoughtfully.  “I can arrange for Healer Libens to attend to Ms. Granger daily.  Of course, you’ll need to adjust your wards and ensure your home is connected to the Floo Network.

 

Draco nodded in understanding.  “Of course.  None of that will be a problem.  I would also respectfully request that any bills for Ms. Granger’s past and future care be forwarded to my solicitor.  They will be taken care of.”

 

“As you wish, Mr. Malfoy.”  Thistlewaite nodded.  “Please let me know what Ms. Granger’s response is so we can make the arrangements, if necessary.”

 

“I will let you know before the day is out, sir.”


	7. Chapter 7

Hermione tentatively took a step across the threshold that separated her from the quiet street and the foyer of Draco’s town home. She was flanked on both sides by Draco and the plump medi-witch who were both muttering about how well she was doing. They had travelled by floo to the Leaky Cauldron, entered muggle London, and had taken a taxi to Draco’s town home.  She was silently thankful no one had suggested apparition. 

 

“I’m so proud of you, dearie!  You’ve made so much progress.” 

 

“You’re doing well, Hermione.”

 

Uninterrupted sleep had apparently been the best medicine because Hermione conjured the energy to wrinkle her nose and tell both of them she would windlessly hex them if they did not shush.  She had no idea when she would be allowed to carry her wand again, but it was the furthest thing from her mind, at the moment.

 

The foyer was a small but bright room leading to what appeared to be a large living area straight ahead, a dining room to the right, and a flight of stairs leading to the next story where Hermione could only assume the bedrooms were located.  The kitchen was likely back behind the dining area and there was a closed door to her left which mildly piqued her curiosity.

 

Draco stepped forward and led them up the stairs after closing and warding the door behind them.  The dark wood of the stairs contrasted nicely with the subtle white-gray of the walls.  Hermione trailed her fingertips up the banister as she ascended the stairs to the second floor of Draco’s home.  Her home.  At least for now.  The hallway at the top of the stairs led off to what appeared to be three bedroom suites.  Hermione followed Draco into the suite closest to the stairs and marveled at the size of the space. 

 

The room was large with a small sitting area containing several book shelves, two arm chairs, and a small table. Large bay windows with delicate gauzy curtains flanked the back wall. The four-poster bed with delicate curving pommels was made of a rich mahogany and was covered in a plush white comforter and several pillows that put clouds to shame. The walls were painted the same light gray as the foyer had been and it contrasted brilliantly with the mahogany furniture. Accents of blue were dotted here and there.  The closet was already stocked with what appeared to be belongings from her previous life as well as several items she did not recognize.  Had he purchased new things for her?

 

Hermione wandered into the ensuite and audibly gasped at the sight.  Before her stood a deep, marble bath tub with taps similar to those that had been present in the prefect’s bathroom at Hogwarts.  If she sat in that tub, she was all but certain the water level would easily come up to her nose. She pulled her eyes from the tub and glanced around at the rest of the bathroom noting a glass encased shower and a tidy vanity with a single sink and large mirror.

 

Hermione pulled her fingers through her hair and turned away from the ensuite, knowing she would spend quite a bit of her time there.  A bath would help her to relax and adjust to her new circumstances. 

 

When Draco had initially asked her if she wanted to live with him, panic shook her to her core.  She had found herself once more involuntarily pressed into the corner.  Her eyes widened, her pulse quickened, and that ever-present knot in her stomach tensed. Shock was the best way she knew how to describe it.  It took her several moments to calm herself down but she knew Draco wouldn’t move, he had the patience of a snake stalking it’s prey as he had demonstrated on numerous occasions.

 

Of course, she had expressed her feelings to him about wanting to leave the hospital, but never in her wildest dreams did she see him posing this solution.  Once her visceral reaction subsided and she thought about it, she certainly wasn’t opposed to the idea.  Moving in with Draco would be another step in the direction of healing and being able to live her life again.  It would allow her to still be under care but in a place outside of the stark white walls of her hospital room.  She could possibly find some sort of purpose outside of simply trying to cope with what happened to her.  Draco’s presence was generally comforting and if she stayed with him in his home, he wouldn’t be resigned to sleeping in a chair any longer.  He had insisted on staying with her and she knew he would be much more comfortable within his own home.

 

Hermione was snapped back from her thoughts as she felt Draco close the distance between them.  “Do you like it?”  he asked tentatively.

 

“It’s beautiful.”  It was clear he had listened when she told him of her color preferences.  He had tailored this room to suit her and that made her heart flutter for an infinitesimal moment.

 

“Would you like to see the rest of the house or take some time to get settled?” 

 

Hermione thought for a moment as she continued to take in her surroundings.  “I think I would like a few minutes to myself, if that’s okay.”  She looked over her shoulder at the healer who had accompanied them.  She had already taken her first dose of potions for the day but wasn’t certain what else the healer had in store for her.

 

“Of course, dearie.”  The healer said, almost too cheerfully.  “I will be here every day to check on your progress.”  The plump medi-witch handed Hermione a small, red, circular token.  “Should you need me at a time when I am not here, simply tap this token three times and I will be here before you can say Qudditch.” Hermione wanted to roll her eyes at the ever-cheerful demeanor of the plump medi-witch, but she refrained. The healer turned to Draco and handed him one of the same tokens with a knowing smile.  “The same goes for you, young man.” 

 

With a curt nod, Draco slipped the token into the pocket of his trousers as the healer called out her destination via the floo in Hermione’s room. Hermione breathed a sigh as the healer disappeared in the flames and directed her gaze to Draco.

 

“I will be downstairs if you need anything, Hermione.” 

 

“Thank you.”

 

Hermione stood still, basking in the stillness of the – her suite.  She longingly stared towards the ensuite knowing exactly what lay within.  She shed the clothing she was wearing as she wandered towards the ensuite, a dreamy look in her eyes.  She turned several knobs at the tub and soon the entire lavatory was engulfed in steam and the sweet, intoxicating smell of honeysuckle with just a hint of cream. Hermione allowed herself a carefully controlled smile and sigh as she sank into the warm water.  The water did indeed reach her nose.

 

 

Draco stood at the stove, methodically tossing and stirring a pan of sautéing vegetables, lost in his thoughts.  Hermione had been in his home for exactly six hours and thirty-seven minutes and he had thoroughly expected to see her descend the stairs by now.  As soon as he left her room earlier he had heard her start the water in the tub.  Two hours later he had knocked the door to check on her and it was at that point, she informed him she was still in the bath tub.  He wasn’t certain she would come down for dinner as it was entirely possible she was still soaking in the tub, but he was intent on preparing dinner for two and would take her a plate, at the very least. With a flick of his wand, Draco levitated the roast from the oven and set it to rest on a cutting board.  It wasn’t often that he cooked, but he knew how.  He found that preparing food was a thoroughly enjoyable task.  The precision it took, at times, mirrored potion making.

 

Draco heard a door close softly upstairs and soon he heard the quiet flutter of a pair of feet descending the stairs. She must have stopped at the base of the staircase because he heard nothing after that.  Draco turned the stove off and stepped out of the kitchen.  He saw her holding on to the edge of the banister, staring towards the front door of his town home. Her hair was pulled back away from her face and her clothing choices were simple – a pair of muggle jeans and a blue jumper. 

 

“Hermione.”  He called her name softly as he tentatively approached her, stopping several feet in front of her. 

 

She turned to look at him, but remained standing in the foyer of his home, her knuckles turning white as she grasped the banister.  “Hi,” she said tentatively.

 

“Dinner is ready.”  Draco offered her his hand, waiting patiently until she decided to slip her hand within his.  He urged her forward and led her into the kitchen where he had prepared dinner. 

 

“I would normally offer you a glass of wine, but your healer thinks it may counteract some of the potions you’ve been prescribed.”  He said with a small chuckle, trying to lighten the mood. 

 

When the corners of her mouth turned up slightly, Draco knew he had been successful.  “Pumpkin juice will have to suffice, then.”  She said, settling into a seat at round table near a bay window bedecked with white curtains. 

 

Draco presented her with a glass of pumpkin juice in a wine glass with a wink and set his own at the seat across from her.  He levitated two prepared plates to the table and set them down in front of them. 

 

“Did you make all of this?” Hermione asked, opening her napkin and placing it in her lap.

 

“I did.  I’ve been on my own for some time and didn’t care to starve.”  He chuckled.

 

“No house elves?”  She mused, popping a roasted potato into her mouth. 

 

He shook his head.  “No.  I thought about asking Mother to borrow Mipsy for a while to help you in case I get called away, but Harry hinted you wouldn’t be happy about that.” 

 

“Harry’s a smart man.”  She said, dryly.

 

“He mentioned something a few weeks ago about something called _SPIT_ or _SPLOO…_ ”

 

 “S.P.E.W.”  Hermione said, placing particular emphasis on naming each letter.  “The Society for the Protection of Elvish Welfare.  It was something I formed when we were in school.  I became rather proficient at knitting hats for the house elves who worked at Hogwarts…”

 

Draco almost spit out his pumpkin juice.  “You know they like to serve, right?  And most are rarely mistreated, least of all the Hogwarts elves.”

 

“I know that now.  Dobby was the only one who would touch them, or so I found out later.”  Hermione pressed her lips together in a tight smile as she swallowed.  “Draco, this is really delicious.”  She said, sincerely.

 

“Thank you.”

 

The pair quietly conversed over dinner slowly feeling out their new arrangement.  As Draco rose to clear the plates, Hermione almost leapt from her seat.  “No, please.  Let me.” 

 

“It’s really no trouble,” Draco said, as he continued to stack the plates on the table.

 

“Please.  I… I like… I need.  Just let me do it.”  Her tone was strained, almost pleading.  For the first time in months, Hermione found herself confused.  She didn’t fully understand _why_ she needed or even wanted to do the dishes the muggle way, but it pulled at her like a compulsion. 

 

Draco took a step back from the table, leaving the dishes precariously stacked.  “Al-alright.  If that’s what you want.” 

 

Hermione nodded, almost confidently and picked up the stack of plates and flatware and placed them in the sink.  She turned on the tap for the hot water and filled the basin with warm water and soap.  Grab a nearby sponge she set to work scrubbing each item with a meticulous precision before rising and placing it into a drying rack.

 

Draco eyed her curiously as she actively worked at the task she had set for herself.  If doing something as mundane as the dishes was something Hermione needed to restore a sense of normalcy to her very abnormal existence, who was he to stop her?

 

Draco picked up a clean dish towel and approached the drying rack.  “Do you mind if I dry them?”

 

Hermione shook her head, vigorously scrubbing the stuck-on bits from the bottom of the roasting pan, a look of sheer concentration on her face.  Draco stood nearby and quietly dried the dishes she placed in the drying rack until she drained the sink.  Without a second thought she turned her attentions to the countertops.  Hermione found it felt somewhat cathartic to be able to clean the muggle way, something she had not had the opportunity to do in seven years. She pushed the thoughts of her captivity from her mind and suddenly an idea struck her.

 

“Draco…” She turned to face the blonde wizard who was casually leaning against the kitchen table. She wrung the wet cloth in her hands, taking a deep breath.  “Can… can I cook for us… tomorrow?” 

 

He pushed off from the table with a smile.  “Of course, Hermione.  Whatever will make you feel at home.  The kitchen is well stocked, but if you will draw up a list, I can pick up anything you need.” 

 

She nodded, quietly murmuring a “thank you” before starting to dig around in his cabinets and pantry.  After months of sitting, resting, and being stuck within her own mind, it felt good to finally be _doing_ something. 


	8. Chapter 8

Draco tucked the files from the Addington case into the filing cabinet near his desk catching the shadow of a figure in his periphery as it passed through the open door of his office.  He looked up to find a familiar messy-haired man with glasses and a famous scar standing in front of his desk with an odd expression on his face.  He looked way too happy for it to be a typical Tuesday.

 

“Have you had lunch, yet?”  Potter asked, leaning against the chair in front of Draco’s desk. Draco studied his face for a moment, trying to put his finger on the expression Potter was currently wearing.

 

“You look off today.”  Draco said, ignoring the question. 

 

Harry shrugged as a goofy smile crossed his face.  “I, uh… I got some good news today.”  He said, tucking his hands in his pockets and swaying a bit. 

 

“Your wife is pregnant.”  Draco said automatically in the most dry voice he could manage, struggling to conceal his excitement at the announcement his friend had yet to make.

 

Harry’s smile dropped and he gaped at the blonde, clearly surprised at his deduction.  “What?  How did you know?”

 

Draco shrugged his shoulders with a cheeky smirk, grabbing his robes from the back of his chair.  “The last time you had that kind of shit-eating grin on your face, Red told you she was pregnant with James.” 

 

“You’re a tosser, you know that?”   Harry said on the verge of pouting.

 

“C’mon, let’s grab lunch.  I’ll buy you a drink, mate.”  Draco chuckled as he clapped the flustered man on the back.

 

Harry grumbled and followed the blonde out of his office. “You’d better buy me two.” 

 

They took the lifts to the first floor of the Ministry and flooed directly to the Leaky Cauldron. Crossing over into the muggle London they walked the short distance to the muggle pub they frequented every week.  They ordered lunch after settling into their typical booth and Draco made good on his promise by ordering them both a whiskey.

 

“Ginny’s absolutely miserable with the morning sickness which should really be called “any-time-of-day sickness since it hits at the most random times.”   

 

“When did you tell the Weasley’s?”  Draco asked, popping a chip in his mouth.

 

“We’re telling them on Sunday over dinner.  Surprisingly, everyone except Charlie will be in town so it’ll work out well.” Harry said.

 

Draco’s eyes widened and flashed Harry a delightfully sinister grin.  “Weasley’s going to hex your balls off you since I know the news before he does.” 

 

Harry narrowed his eyes and nearly stabbed a carrot to death.  “Not if you don’t tell him.” 

 

“And miss all of the fun?  Do you know me at all, Potter?” Draco chuckled. “Maybe I’ll actually come to Sunday dinner.  Molly has been prodding me to for a while…”

 

“Do you mind not telling Hermione?  Ginny wants to tell her whenever she sees her next week.”  Harry said, changing the subject off of the subject of his brother in law and his famous temper.

 

Draco shook his head, “No, I won’t spoil Gin’s surprise.  Hermione would appreciate the news from Ginny moreso than me, anyway.” 

 

“Is Hermione still adjusting well to living with you?  It’s beena while since I’ve been able to pop by.” Harry asked, regretting that his load at work had picked up.  He barely spent time with Ginny let alone had time to pop by Draco’s and see Hermione.

 

“She seems to be, but she’s picked up some … habits… that confuse me at times.”  Draco said, thinking of the witch and her affinity for everything muggle.  “She insists in cleaning everything the muggle way, even though I could easily do it with my wand.”   

 

Harry laughed.  “She was like that before, you know.”

 

“She insists it gives her something to do but now our home spells perpetually like lemon and pine.  It’s not a bad smell, I guess… but it can be a bit overpowering.”

 

Draco’s use of the word “our” wasn’t lost on Harry, but he kept his thoughts to himself.  Though he and Draco had never discussed it outright, he knew the man’s feelings for his best friend ran pretty deep.

 

“Oh, before I forget,” Harry interjected, “Ginny wants to throw a party for your birthday in a few weeks.  She wanted me to confirm dates with you.”

 

Draco shrugged his shoulders and finished off his last bite of fish.  “That’s not necessary, you know… but I would be an idiot to get on Red’s bad side by refusing her, especially when she’s pregnant.” He laughed, recalling how meddlesome and emotional Ginny had been during her last pregnancy.  “Whatever date she wants to do it, you know I’ll be there.”  

 

“I’ll let her know.”  Harry said, checking his watch.  “We should be getting back.”

 

……….

 

Hermione was perched atop the granite counter top in the kitchen of Draco’s town home with a book and one hand and a partially eaten apple in the other.  Her hair was tied up in a messy bun and there was the faintest sheen of sweat dotting her brow.  

 

She heard a set of footsteps approaching the kitchen from the other side of the house.  Without so much as a glance up after his shadow entered her peripheral vision, she near-shouted, “Don’t you dare step on this floor if you value your life, Draco Malfoy.” 

 

Draco leaned against the archway leading into the kitchen with his arms crossed over his chest, eyeing her with an amused smile. The color had fully returned to her cheeks and her cheeky and feisty demeanor which he recalled from their days at Hogwarts was starting to come back.  She still had her bad days of course, but she had reached a point where there were more good days than bad days.  Today was apparently one of the good days judging by the expression on her face and the fact that floor was freshly mopped.

 

“I wouldn’t dare.”  He chuckled.  “Dinner smells nice.  What did you make?”

 

Hermione delicately marked the page before closing the book and setting it beside her on the counter. She propped an elbow up on her knee and rested her chin in her hand. “Roasted chicken and vegetables.”

 

“With rosemary and garlic?” He inquired following a rather long sniff of the air.

 

“Of course.”  She said flippantly with a small smirk, as though there were any other way to prepare the dish.  “How was your day?”

 

“Quiet, for a change.  A few interviews with witnesses for the Addington case, lunch with Potter and Parkinson, and a bit of paperwork to finish the day.  Did Libens drop by?”

 

“She came by around ten this morning and again around two to drop off my potions. How is Harry?” She said, drumming her fingertips on her cheek, her neutral expression bordering on contentment.

 

“I hope you were nice to her this – “

 

“I was civil.  You know she – “

 

“Infuriates you.  Yes, Hermione, I am fully aware.”  Draco ceased leaning on the archway and simply stood within it knowing better than to chance stepping on the freshly mopped floor.

 

Slipping his hands into the pockets of his trousers, he maintained a steady tone as he relayed the other bit of new from today.  “Potter mentioned today that Ginny is insisting on planning something for my birthday in a few weeks.”  

 

Hermione’s lips curved down into a slight frown. “Oh.”

 

“Hermione, I would very much like you to be there.”  He said with a gentle optimism.

 

“Draco, I don’t…” She sighed and buried her face in her hands. 

 

Feeling that the risk of her potential wrath was worth it, Draco crossed the freshly mopped kitchen floor and was at her side within just a few strides. He gently placed one hand on her forearm.

 

“I can make sure it’s kept small.”  He said, rubbing her forearm with his thumb in small soothing circles. “I think it might be good for you.” 

 

Hermione inhaled a deep breath and exhaled slowly, her fingers sliding slowly up her forehead and into her hair.  She pulled the tie holding her hair the messy bun and let her curls fall, her hands returning to cover her face.  Draco took another step to close the remainder of the short distance between them.  He placed both of his hands on her shoulders as she leaned forward so her forehead touched his chest.  Her hands fell from her face and she desperately took ahold of his shirt. 

 

This routine had become somewhat common place since Hermione had moved in with Draco.  When the sickening feeling of panic rose up in her chest, Hermione’s hands automatically covered her face and she attempted to breathe through the attack.  At first, Draco simply stood nearby unsure of what to do when she had suddenly grabbed his hand.  His proximity and touch seemed to help her work through whatever was happening inside of her head and he was more than happy to be her anchor.  He had long accepted that this beautiful, slowly-healing witch was _it_ for him.  They were moving the stones to build the mountain and the pile was getting bigger each day.

 

“Hermione, do you trust me?” Draco whispered against her hair.

 

Without hesitation, she nodded even as she pressed the palms of her hands against his chest, grounding herself.

 

“I don’t need an answer right now, but I ask that you give it some consideration.  It would mean a lot to me if you came.”

 

They stood in the kitchen for several minutes while Hermione continued to breathe through the attack until it subsided.  She lifted her forehead from Draco’s chest and looked up into his eyes, smoothing out the fabric of his shirt she had grabbed at in the moment.  With her position on the countertop and his proximity, their noses were nearly touching and she could feel puffs of his breath tickling her chin as he smiled down at her with his kind silver eyes. 

 

In the time Hermione had been living with Draco, his eyes had quickly become one of her favorite things about her companion.  They were like storm clouds, resonating with a tempestuous gray which gave way to a calming, clarifying silver rain which washed away all of her troubles for the brief moments in which he was near.  Her best days were the ones they spent together in his study reading, on the sofa watching the television she had convinced him to purchase, or simply conversing at the dinner table.  His presence made her feel safe. The way he spoke to her made her feel valued.  His actions showed her compassion and the way he looked at her made her feel loved.

 

So, she did the most logical thing she could think to do in that moment.  She closed the gap between them and pressed her lips against his in a cautious, exploratory kiss.  She felt his body go rigid as his hand found the small of her back, pulling her into him.  The kiss didn’t last longer for more than a few seconds before Hermione pulled back, touching her lips where his had been moments before with her fingertips. 

 

It was at that moment she started second guessing herself and her decision to kiss him and she began to tremble.  “Draco, I… I’m…I didn’t…”  She stuttered, struggling to find the words as a flush rose to her cheeks. Draco didn’t think she could look any more beautiful in his eyes but that flush proved him wrong.

 

Draco pulled his arms around her and settled her against his chest, rubbing her back in soothing circles.  “Please don’t overthink it, Hermione.”  He said gently, whispering against her curls. “I promise you it will not complicate things.” 

 

“Won’t it?” She asked with a sigh. Hermione was a very careful and cautious person.  She never did anything without giving it significant thought.  Of course, it would be that one of her first impulsive decisions would be to kiss Draco Malfoy, though she had rationalized her decision with logic. If she thought about it harder, she really had thought her decision through, it just happened that she had come to the decision at this particular time and place.

 

“Not at all.”  He confirmed, tucking a finger beneath her chin and guiding her to look at him.  He smiled at the witch, marveling at how far she had come over the past year.  Up until this point their relationship had been completely platonic apart from a few chase kisses to her hand or forehead and innocent embraces.  Draco held no expectations for her and was content to enjoy her company and show her kindness for as long as she would allow him to do so.  Even if she never kissed him again, he would continue to treat her the same as he had done. 

 

But after he felt her lips on his, he instantly knew he needed to kiss her again. In a confirmation of his feelings for her, he pulled her into another kiss. It lasted slightly longer than the previous one and when they pulled apart, a smile ghosted across Hermione’s lips.  

 

She settled her head onto his shoulder for a brief moment before pulling back, her eyes laced with a mild fury. “If I had my wand, I would hex you for tracking dirt into my kitchen,” she said, pointing her finger at him threateningly after eyeing the freshly mopped floor he had ruined.

 

All Draco could do was laugh at his witch and kiss her again.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning for this chapter. This entire story is a trigger warning, but there is some particularly sensitive content in this chapter
> 
> The first part of this chapter was beta-ed by the amazing Kikistone. She has a way with words that I couldn’t even begin to imagine having. Though life got in the way (for both of us!) I am grateful for the work she was able to do to help bring this chapter to life. 
> 
> In other news, I’m back at work (#teacherlife), so updates are going to be even more sporadic than usual. Don’t worry! I haven’t abandoned anything!
> 
>  
> 
> Standard disclaimers apply

 

 

Hermione stood in her closet, arms crossed, staring at the vast sea of colorful blouses, trousers, skirts, robes, and dresses that hung before her. With her hair falling in loose ringlets down her back, her face was contorted in a frown born, not out of the depression and anxiety that permeated her body frequently, but rather one born out of frustration at fact that she simply couldn’t decide what to wear.  Draco and Ginny had gone a bit overboard when they had stocked her closet leaving her with entirely too many choices.  Overwhelmed and slightly ticked off, Hermione decided to simply close her eyes, pass her hand over the rack of garments, and select one at random. The hanger she removed happened to contain a periwinkle sundress which stopped just below her knees with a modest rounded neckline and cap sleeves. Pulling the dress over her head begrudgingly, she slipped her feet into a pair of sandals and vacated the room in favor of a less aggravating setting.

 

Without much thought she went downstairs and, after walking around for a bit, she decided to go in search of Draco. Coming up on his study’s door, she knocked and waited until his voice granted her permission to enter.  The study was warm, and a quick look at the hearth revealed the telltale fire slowly fading from green to the usual orange. Draco, who sat behind the large mahogany desk covered in case files, parchment, quills, and inkwells, had just finished a floo-call. Carefully eying the man, Hermione noticed his brow was furrowed in concentration even as he looked up from the parchment he was writing on. He offered her a tired smile.

 

“You’ve been working too much.” She said observantly as she settled herself down in one of the  armchairs that rested by the many bookshelves that lined the walls. Throughout the course of her self-imposed confinement to the home they now shared, she had taken time to study her housemate, especially following the kiss they had shared in the kitchen the previous week.

 

Since leaving St. Mungo’s, she had found she did not need him at her bedside in order to get a full night’s rest, the simple knowledge that he was in close proximity was enough to allow her to surrender to her dreams and nightmares. Her continuous study of him over time told her that, work was taking its toll on him. Though he tried to smile at her, it was a mere ghost of anything truly genuine. She could tell his heart was not behind the gesture, his eyes were tired and wan and he seemed preoccupied. Oftentimes, Hermione asked herself how he could put up with her—or why he bothered— what with her mood swings and _episodes_. Though the latter ones had lessened with the help of her mind healer, the countless potions, and Draco’s presence and support, she was by no means well or cured.

 

If Hermione were being honest, she knew she shouldn’t find comfort in Draco’s presence. Between their tumultuous history and the fact that they were virtual strangers, her need for his company was lunacy; yet  her present circumstances and his uncanny persistence,made it so that she couldn’t help but yearn for his company.  No one else had the impact he did, and he remained the sole person to have really gained her trust following her captivity.

 

“We’re close to a breakthrough in the case, I can’t stop now. There will be time for sleep later,”  he shrugged as he tucked one of the many pieces of parchment into an envelope.

 

She didn’t answer. Instead, Hermione chose to pull a book from the shelf. Opening it on her lap, she began tracing over the words with her fingertips as Draco addressed the envelope he had been working on since her arrival. After a few short moments, her eyes moved from the pages and gazed lazily at Draco’s moving figure as he stood from his desk and went to his owl. After a few short whispers and a brief caress, he sent the creature off with the piece of correspondence.

 

In all his quiet confidence, Draco crossed the room, cupped her cheek in his palm, and gently pressed his lips to the top of Hermione’s head. The gesture elicited a small smile from the witch as he rubbed his thumb across her bottom lip. She was unsure of when she had grown to crave his touch, but these days the witch loved little gestures of affection from him. Her acceptance of his tenderness had resulted in bolder demonstrations of his affection. It was understandable how wary he had been at first, and she knew there were likely to be further hurdles, but for now these little displays of affection brightened her day.

 

“When is Ginny coming over?”  He ran his fingertips across several, ancient leather-bound volumes, seeking a particular tome.

 

Glancing at the clock on the wall and noting the time, Hermione nervously sunk her teeth into her bottom lip. “In a few hours.”

 

With a satisfied smirk adorning his features, Draco plucked the volume he had been seeking from the shelf, tracing the lines and curves of the spine of the ancient tome. “How are you feeling?”  Draco asked in a cautious tone, though the sight of her lip captured between her teeth told him all he needed to know.

 

Keeping a finger tucked between the pages, Hermione closed the book which rested in her lap “Nervous.”  It was easy to be truthful with Draco given all he had done to gain her trust, though she still had trouble elaborating upon her feelings.  

 

Draco settled back as he flipped through the pages, scanning each one with care until he located the page he desired. “Why nervous?  You see Ginny nearly every week.”  He said almost flippantly and she frowned at his distraction, though she knew she had invaded his office while he was working a difficult case.

 

“Something about today just feels different.”  Hermione shrugged, watching the look of concentration on Draco’s face as he thumbed through the book, idly wondering what he was looking for.  Her curious nature came forward and she desperately wanted to ask about his search, but decided against it in the moment.

 

His eyes remained trained on the text as he located the particular paragraph, missing the slightly defeated look on Hermione’s face. “Different how?”

 

Hermione was growing tired of his questioning and she bristled derisively.  “You sound like Libens.”

 

Ignoring her accusation, Draco started to copy several lines of text from the book onto a piece of parchment. “Did you take your potions?”

 

Rolling her eyes, Hermione groaned and lifted her tired form from the chair and moved towards his desk, curiosity getting the better of her. “Draco, I always take my potions, you _know_ that.”  

 

He hummed at the back of his throat and checked the transfer before asking what Hermione thought was yet another redundant question. “Did Libens change your potions at all?”

 

Hermione caressed the smooth grain of his desk and leaned forward slightly, eying the transcription and ignoring his last question.  They would both have known if the healer had changed her potions or potion schedule - the woman never did anything halfway.  The error on the parchment caught her eye almost immediately and she tapped the latin words with a finger. “That should say _floris folium_ not _floris caulis.”_

“I copied it word for word from the book, Hermione.”  He countered with just a hint of frustration in his voice, glancing back from the parchment to the book in his hands.

 

She knew the exhaustion was taking its toll when he failed to catch the error, being that he was a brilliant potioneer. Unfortunately, it didn’t stop her from being snippy with him - the feel of the day and his attitude were quickly draining her neutral to slightly pleasant demeanor into one of irritation and frustration.. “The book is wrong.” Hermione affirmed, placing the book in her hands onto his desk with the intent of finding her place again later.  She gestured to the potion recipe he had written, “If you put in campion stems rather than campion petals, you’re likely to explode your potions lab, Draco.”

 

Draco stared at her wide eyed as the implication of using one ingredient over the other fully took hold.  He couldn’t believe he had missed the connection and forcefully dropped the book onto the desk with a loud thud and swept the witch into his arms.  “Brightest witch of the age, you are!”  Draco exclaimed in delight, planting a kiss on her cheek, though Hermione was left thoroughly confused by the entire ordeal.

 

She allowed the warmth and security of his embrace lull her back into a sense of calm and she nestled her head against his chest.  She knew her observation likely related to his case but was still surprised and unsure of his animated reaction, especially given his nearly disinterested demeanor over the past half hour.

 

As though he could sense her confusion, he chuckled lightly and pressed another kiss to the top of her head.   “You may have just solved my case, you silly witch.”  He said, a smile playing across his lips, despite the exhaustion plaguing his body.

 

Feeling relief wash over her that he might now be able to rest, she rose to her toes and chastely pecked him on the lips for the briefest of moments.  She felt her cheeks warm as she did so, unused to being so brazen in her affections for the man who had gone out of his way to gain her trust.  Being wrapped in his arms temporarily chased away her demons and she relished in the feeling of peace, no matter how short lived.  

 

“Good.  You won’t need to work so much then.”  She teased.

 

……….

 

Hermione held the delicate teacup between her fingers trying her hardest not to yawn as Ginny Potter nattered on about her latest Quidditch match against the Appleby Arrows.  Hermione was only half paying attention as Ginny described every last detail of the game, something Hermione couldn’t care less about.  Quidditch had never been a huge interest to the intelligent witch and the the redhead had a tendency to ramble when she was nervous or excited about something.  It wasn’t long before the constant chatter began to grate on Hermione’s somewhat fragile nerves.  While she enjoyed seeing Ginny, she silently wished Draco was by her side, rather than secluded in his office working, as he was able to manipulate the witch into talking less and smiling a bit more, rather than filling every possible moment of silence with what was quickly becoming mindless chatter.

 

Hermione gathered her courage, drawing in a deep breath to steady herself and set her eyes on her friend with the intent to stop the inane Quidditch ramblings of the young witch.  “Ginevra, you’re rambling.”  She interrupted just as Ginny was trying to explain another Quidditch move Hermione had no desire to hear about.  Hermione breathed in through her nose and set her teacup back in its saucer adjusting it so it sat in perfect alignment.

 

The use of her full first name immediately caught Ginny’s attention.  She stared at the brunette with wide eyes and managed to hide a somewhat embarrassed smile and pinked cheeks behind her teacup. Hermione wasn’t fooled - it was obvious that she had some sort of news she wanted to share, but couldn’t quite say it out loud.

 

“I’m pregnant.”  

 

There it was.

 

Ginny set her teacup on the table and took Hermione’s hand in her own, a beaming smile gracing her lips even as she missed the sudden darkening of Hermione’s eyes.  

 

“Harry and I are going to have another son or daughter!”  Small tears began to form at the corners of Ginny’s eyes as she squeezed Hermione’s hand in apparent glee.

 

Hermione could feel the blood draining from her extremities and settling somewhere near her core as the tentative tranquility from her morning spent in Draco’s study was rapidly washed away. A pair of cruel eyes flashed within her mind as a murderous cackle echoed within her ears.  The stench of blood and death filled her nostrils and her stomach threatened to empty itself as bile rose in the back of her throat. 

 

Scrambling suddenly back from the table the frightened witch tore her hands away from Ginny’s and darted from the room, taking the stairs two at a time. When she finally reached the top, she stumbled into her room, slammed the door shut and collapsed in a heap on the floor.  She held her knees to her chest as her body shook, the unwelcome memories playing across her mind.

 

……….

 

Wide-eyed, Ginny watched the fragile and frightened witch flee from the room.  It took several moments for her actions to sink in before she found herself rising from her chair and making her way towards Draco’s office.  While she had expected a subdued reaction from her riend, she certainly hadn’t expected the witch to glaze over in terror and scramble out of the kitchen.  

 

Seeing Hermione in such a state was heartbreaking for Ginny, who really had good intentions but had no idea how to truly help her.  Draco seemed to be doing wonders for her, but Ginny wondered if their relationship would ever return to how it had been before Hermione’s disappearance.  She suspected it wouldn’t, but that didn’t keep her from maintaining some semblance of hope.  She loved Hermione like a sister, but she knew that the only one who could possibly find out what went wrong was Draco.  

 

She quickly navigated her way to Draco’s study and shoved the door open without warning.  Luckily, Draco was merely working on something at his desk and not engaged in a floo-call.  

 

“It’s Hermione…”  Ginny said quietly as she stood in the doorframe, her features marred with shock and worry.  “I don’t know what happened Draco.”

 

Looking up from his desk, Draco could tell the normally composed witch was shaking from where he sat.  He quickly tucked his parchment and quill away and crossed the room, placing his hands along the sides of Ginny’s arms.  

 

“Tell me what you can.”  He said, his gaze flickering towards the sound of the slamming door.  

 

Ginny met Draco’s gaze and recounted the events of the afternoon starting from the moment she arrived to her revealing her pregnancy to Hermione’s immediate elopement.

 

Bile rose in Draco’s throat as he began to make the connection.  Knowing what he knew of Hermione’s attacker and having seen the scars left upon her person, Draco wouldn’t put it past the man to have impregnated her at some point, though the thought made him feel physically ill. He hoped that when he confronted Hermione, his suspicions would not be confirmed, but in the back of his mind, he knew they would be.  

 

Draco set his gaze upon Ginny and lightly squeezed her arms in reassurance, more for his own than anything.  “Give me a few minutes, I think I know what happened.”  He said as calmly as he could muster.

 

He bounded up the stairs, leaving a somewhat shaken Ginny Potter standing in the doorframe leading into his study.  Gently rapping his knuckles against the large wooden door as a warning he was about to enter, Draco pushed it open with care.  Hermione lay on the floor, curled into a tight ball with her curls splayed around her.  Being careful not to touch her, Draco knelt before her placing his hand near one of hers.  He kept his breathing steady and his body still, though inwardly he begged and pleaded for the witch to simply take his hand and let him comfort her. 

 

He was rewarded a few moments later when she tentatively touched his fingers to his.  At this he pulled his witch into his arms and began speaking to her in calm, soothing tones attempting to bring her out of the haze of memories he knew were coursing through her mind.  Her eyes were clouded and tormented as she remained lost within her own mind, this this did not deter his efforts.

 

Draco cradled Hermione in his lap with the utmost care, holding her small form against him while rubbing soothing circles along her back.  When she pulled her arms around his neck and released a ragged breath, he knew she was no longer trapped in her own memories, though her emotions were in a heightened state.

 

“Tell me.”  He whispered against the curve of her ear, knowing she would speak whenever she was ready, though he wasn’t certain he was ready to hear it.

 

Her voice was rough and strained from crying as she spoke.  “Ginny’s pregnant.”

 

“Yes.”  Draco affirmed, trying not to betray his own emotions.  “She is.”

 

Though she tried to mitigate it by inhaling a deep breath, Hermione’s body tensed against Draco’s chest.  Her next words were barely audible to his ears, but his suspicions were confirmed when she spoke three heartbreaking words.

 

“I was pregnant.”

 

The memory flashed once more before Hermione’s eyes as she clung to Draco, though she somehow found the strength to convey what happened, many years before.

 

_The sun from the small window was beaming down, warming her face against the cool autumn air with its rays.  While there were no pleasures in being held captive, Hermione relished in the feeling of the sun on her face - she had been too long without it.  She was tucked away in a small room inside of the house, but for several days she had been forced into the cold, darkness of a basement, though it felt more like a dungeon.  She wasn’t certain what made him move her back into the small room with the tiniest window, but she was grateful for the chance to feel and see the sun._

 

_She felt a tiny flutter within her abdomen and caressed it automatically with her hand, a tired and wan smile rising to her lips.  She kept the tiny life a secret for as long as she was able, but he soon found out as her normally flat abdomen began to extend.  She had been hopeful that his treatment would go back to being more_ bearable _as it was when she was first kidnapped, but he only grew more calculating, cold, and cruel._

 

_His anger was unlike anything she had ever seen the day he realized she was pregnant with his child.  Between the curses he inflicted upon her body, he cursed her name, her blood, and the life growing inside of her.  A simple_ Crucio _would have been enough to kill the tiny life growing within her, but he never took the simple route._

 

_The torture lasted for two days until she finally miscarried, though to Hermione the pain of the miscarriage and the loss of her child seemed greater than the pain he inflicted upon her person.  She saw the child briefly through her tears before it was… disposed of… and his inhumane treatment of the tiny, lifeless form was enough to fuel her will to survive this ordeal, though she couldn’t have known at the time that it would still be several years before she was finally set free._

 

“She would’ve been three, if he hadn’t taken her life.”  The flow of tears from her eyes had stemmed as leaned against Draco, taking comfort in his presence.  

 

“He’s taken so many lives.”  She murmured quietly.

 

“He has.” Was all Draco could think to say in the moment, though his mind was reeling with the information Hermione had imparted.  He was certain if he attempted to stand up now, he would be just as unsteady on his feet as the witch he cradled within his arms.

 

Hermione pulled back from his embrace and studied him through red-rimmed eyes.  Her eyes traced over his pointed features and pale skin until her eyes settled on his gray eyes which flickered between too many emotions for her to pinpoint.  Beneath it all, she saw the love he had for her and she anchored herself to that feeling, letting it seep into all of the cracks his father had made when he had inflicted the worst of the worst upon her person.

 

They shared the same eyes, but Draco’s were softer, full of kindness and love while his father’s eyes were filled with nothing but malice and depravity.  Hermione spent six years studying the stormy eyes of the father and significantly less time studying those of the son, but she inherently knew that the two men were as different as they could possibly Draco.  She suspected Draco took after his mother, though she was unable to prove it.

 

Hermione was determined to not let the six years of memories spent in captivity to Lucius Malfoy plague her any longer.  She knew they would return from time to time, but she was also certain of the fact that possessed the strength to continue to fight.  It was Draco who had shown her the depth of her strength and tenacity through his patience and love.  Being able to confide in Draco was cathartic - it was something she couldn’t every seem to get from Libens or the mind-healer she was periodically.  

 

Draco had been a presence in her life since the moment she entered the wizarding world.  He had not always been a good presence, but he had more than atoned for his sins.  While he still bore a faded Dark Mark, she knew he never held with the rubbish and vitriol the Death Eaters spewed.  He had worked from the ground up to make his family respectable again, even as his father worked to tear the family back down with his well publicised kidnapping of Hermione.

 

Draco had become friends with her friends through his auror training.  It was this path that he had chosen for himself that allowed him the opportunity to follow her kidnapping and eventually take over her case.  He was the best person for the job, knowing his father’s motives and mannerisms and it was this inside intel that eventually lead to him spotting his father’s mistake and leading a team to rescue her.  From there, he had seamlessly implanted himself into her life, building a foundation of trust, which if she was correct, had grown and strengthened with love. 

 

Knowing what his father was capable of and given his own treatment of her when they were in school, it seemed as though Draco was the last person she should have ever trusted.  It was clear to Hermione that Draco was nothing like his father.  He had demonstrated his capacity to change, to love, and to trust at each and every turn.

 

Therein lay the path to her own recovery.  The care she received had stabilized her.  The potions and mind-healers helped regulate her moods, tempestuous though they were.  Ultimately, it would be her ability to trust that would lead to finding herself again.  She needed to be able to extend her trust beyond the safety of her stormy-eyed knight in shining armor.  She needed to let go of her fears, though she knew she could potentially be hurt for opening herself up to the outside world.  It was simply something that needed to be done. 

 

She was ready.

 

Glancing towards the door, reluctantly tearing her eyes away from Draco’s, Hermione sighed.  “I need to apologize to Ginny.  I’m sure my actions have left her worried.” 

 

“I asked her to wait.”  Draco offered, releasing his arms from around Hermione.  “She should still be downstairs.” 

 

Hermione nodded, her curls bouncing as she slipped out of his lap, settling back down onto the floor, gazing at the door.  The words she needed to say to the witch downstairs swirled through her mind. 

 

Draco stood and offered Hermione his hand, helping her to stand.  He intertwined his fingers with hers and reached to open the door as he was still processing through everything Hermione had revealed.  He knew his father was an absolute monster - he relished in the torture of muggles almost as much as his aunt.  Being raised in the household of Lucius Malfoy meant severe punishments for stepping one toe out of life.  While he knew his father was capable of and even found joy in taking lives, and it shouldn’t have surprised him to know that his father had tortured a woman to miscarriage, but it was still a shock all the same.

 

Hermione’s words cut through the fog in his brain as he registered what she was saying.  “Draco, I wanted to say thank you.”  Her voice held a quiet strength that he did not expected in that moment and he gave her a questioning look which she returned with a tired smile.

 

“You’ve done so much for me and I don’t say it enough.”

 

Draco felt his heart swell as he caught a sparkle in her eye that hadn’t been there before.  As he leaned down to drop a chaste kiss upon her forehead, Hermione rose onto her toes for the first time to meet the touch of his lips as they brushed against her skin.  There was something more intimate in the simple action than in the kisses and caresses they had shared before and it seemed there was a promise embedded within. 

 

Draco buried his face in her curls and cradled her in his arms, relishing in the intense feeling passing between them for a few precious moments before they made their way downstairs to find Ginny Potter.

 


End file.
